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Palestine - - » - 

Europe - - 

Passage of the Red Sea 

Lines on Lord Grenville's Installation 

Epitaph on a young Naval Officer 

An Evening Walk in Bengal 

Lines written to his Wife 

Happiness - 

The Moonlight March - 

Lines - - . . - 

Farewell . - • - - . 

Vespers - 

To General Hill ... 

Imitation of an Ode, by Koodrut 

Hymns — For Advent Sunday 
Second Sunday in Advent 
For the same - 
Third Sunday in Advent 
Fourth Sunday in Advent 
Christmas day 
St Stephen's day 
St John the Evangelist's day 


- 31 

- 63 

- 71 


- 76 

■ 81 


■ 87 


Innocents' day . 

Sunday after Christmas, or Circumcision 

Epiphany , , 

First Sunday after Epiphany 

Second Sunday after Epiphany 

For the same . 

For the same .... 

Third Sunday after Epiphany 

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany 

Septuagesima Sunday 

Sexagesima .... 

Quinquagesima . 

Fourth Sunday in Lent 

Fifth Sunday in Lent 

Sixth Sunday in Lent 

Good Friday . - 

Easter day 

Fifth Sunday after Easter 

Ascension day and Sunday after 

Whitsunday .... 

Trinity Sunday . 

First Sunday after Trinity 

For the same . . . . 

Second Sunday after Trinity 

Third Sunday after Trinity 

Fourth Sunday after Trinity 




Fifth Sunday after Trinity . 119 

Seventh Sunday after Trinity . . 120 

Tenth Sunday after Trinity . . .122 

Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity . . 124 

Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity . . 126 

Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity . . 127 

Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity . . 12S 

Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity . 130 

Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity . 132 

Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity . 133 

Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity . .134 

For St James' day . . . 135 

Michaelmas day . . . 136 

In times of Distress and Danger . . 138 
Intended to be sung on occasion of his 
preaching a sermon for the Church 

Missionary Society . . • 139 
An introit, to be sung between the Litany 

and Communion Service . . 141 

Before the Sacrament . . . 142 

At a funeral . . . 143 

Stanzas on the death of a friend . . 145 

On recovery from sickness . . 147 

Translations of Pindar ... 151 

Translations from the Hindoostanee . 1S9 




If it be sad to speak of treasures gone, 
Of sainted genius called too soon away, 

Of light, from this world taken while it shone, 
Yet kindling onward to the perfect day — 

How shall our grief, if mournful these things be, 

Flow forth, O guide and gifted friend, for thee ? 

Hath not thy voice been here amongst us heard ? 

And that deep soul of gentleness and power, 
Have we not felt its breath in every word, 

Wont from thy lip,as Hermon's dew,to show€fc ? 
Yes ! in our hearts thy fervent thoughts have 

burned — 
Of heaven they were, and thither are returned. 

How shall we mourn thee ? — With a lofty trust, 

Our life's immortal birthright from above, 
With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just, 
Through shades and mysteries lifts a glance of 
of love, 
And yet can weep !— for Nature so deplores 
The friend that leaves us, though for happier 


And one high tone of triumph o'er thy bier, 
One strain of solemn rapture be allowed, 

Thou that, rejoicing on thy mid-career, 
Not to decay, but unto death hast bowed! 

In those bright regions of the rising sun, 

Where Victory ne'er a crown like thine hath won. 

Praise, for yet one more name, with power en- 
To cheer and guide us onward as we press, 
Yet one more image on the heart bestowed, 

To dwell there — beautiful in holiness ! 
Thine, Heber, thine, whose memory from the 

Shines as the star, which to the Saviour led. 







Rett of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn, 
Mourn, widowed queen, forgotten Sion, mourn. 
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne, 
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone ? 
While suns unblest their angry lustre fling, 
And way-worn pilgrims seek the scanty spring ? 
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy 

view'd ? 
Where now thy might, which all those kings sub- 
dued ? 
No martial myriads muster in thy gate ; 
Vo suppliant nations in thy Temple wait ; 
STo prophet bards, thy glittering courts among, 
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song : 
Jut lawless Force, and meagre Want is there, 
ind the quick-darting eye of restless Fear ; 
SVhile cold Oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid, 


Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade. 

Ye guardian saints, ye warrior sons of heaven, 
To whose high care Judaea's state was given, 
O wont of old your nightly watch to keep, 
A host of gods, on Sion's towery steep — 
If e'er your secret footsteps linger >till 
By Siloa's fount, or Tabor's echoing hill ; 
If e'er your song on Salem's glories dwell, 
And mourn the captive land you loved so w T ell ; 
(For oft, 'tis said, in Kedron's palmy vale 
Mysterious harpings swell the midnight gale, 
And, blest as balmy dews that Heimon cheer, 
Melt in soft cadence on the pilgrim's ear ;) 
Forgive, blest spirits, if a theme so high 
Mock the weak notes of mortal minstrelsy; 
Yet, might your aid this anxious breast inspire 
With one faint spark of Milton's seraph fire, 
Then should my Muse ascend with holder flight, 
And wave her eagle-plumes exulting in the light. 

O happy once in heaven's peculiar lore, 
Delight of men below, and saints above ; 
Though, Salem, now the spoiler's ruffian hand 
Has loosed his hell-hounds o'er thv wasted land : 
Though weak, and whelmed beneath the storms 

of fate, 
Thy house is left unto thee desolate ; 
Though thv proud stones in cumbrous ruin fall, 




And seas of sand o'ertop thy mouldering wall ; 
Yet shall the Muse to Fancy's ardent view 
Each shadowy trace of faded pomp renew : 
And as the seer on Pisgah's topmost brow 
With glistening eye beheld the plain below, 

With prescient ardor drank the scented gale, 
And bade the opening glades of Canaan hail ; 
Her eagle eye shall scan the prospect wide, 
From Carmel's cliffs to Almotana's tide; 
The flinty waste, the cedar-tufted hill, 
The liquid health of smooth Ardeni's rill; 
The grot, where, by the watch-fire's evenin 

The robber riots, or the hermit prays; 
Or. where the tempest rives the hoary stone, 
The wintry ton of giant Lebanon. 

Fierce, hardy, proud, in conscious freedom bold, 
Those stormy seats the warrior Druses hold ; 
From Norman blood their lofty line they trace, 
Their lion courage proves their generous race. 
The}*, only they, while all around them kn^el 
In sullen homage to the Thracian steel, 
Teach their pale despot's waning moon to fear 
The patriot terrors of the mountain spear. 

Yes, valorous chiefs, while yet your sabres shine, 
The native guard of feeble Palestine, 
O, ever thus, by no vain boast dismayed, 


Defend the birthright of the cedar shade. 
What though no more for you the obedient gale 
Swells the white bosom of the Tyrian sail; 
Though now no more your glittering marts unfold 
Sidonian dyes and Lusitanian gold ; 
Though not for you the pale and sickly slave 
Forgets the light in Ophir's wealthy cave ; 
Yet yours the lot, in proud contentment blest, 
Where cheerful labor leads to tranquil rest. 
No robber rage the ripening harvest knows; 
And unrestrained the generous vintage flows : 
Nor less your sons to manliest deeds aspire, 
And Asia's mountains glow with Spartan (ire. 

So when, deep sinking in the rosy main, 
The western sun forsakes the Syrian plain, 
His watery rays refracted lustre shed, 
And pour their latest light on Carmel'shead. 

Yet shines your praise, a mid surrounding gloom, 
As the lone lamp that trembles in the tomb : 
For few the souls that spurn a tyrant's chain, 
And small the bounds of freedom's scantv reign. 
As the poor outcast on the cheerless wild, 
Arabia's parent, clasped her fainting child, 
And wandered near the roof no more her home, 
Forbid to linger, yet afraid to roam : 
My sorrowing fancy quits the happier height, 

id southward throw's her half-averted sight. 


For sad the scenes Judaea's plains disclose, 
A dreary waste of undistinguished woes. 
See War untired his crimson pinions spread. 
And foul Revenge, that tramples on the dead. 
Lo, where from far the guarded fountains shine, 
Thy tents, Nebaioth, rise, and Kedar, thine : 
'Tis yours the boast to mark the stranger's way, 
And spur your headlong chargers on the prey, 
Or rouse your nightly numbers from afar, 
And on the hamlet pour the waste of war"; 
Nor spare the hoary head, nor bid your eye 
Revere the sacred smile of infancy. 
Such now the clans, whose Oery coursers feed 
AVhere waves on Kishon's bank the whispering 

reed ; 
And theirs the soil, where, curling to the skies,' 
Smokes on Samaria r s mount her scanty sacrifice. 
"While Israel's sons, by scorpion curses driven, 
Outcasts of earth, and reprobate of heaven, 
Through the wide world in friendless exile stray, 
Remorse and shame sole comrades of their way, 
With dumb despair their country's w rones beholds 
And, dead to glory, only burn for gold. 

O Thou, their Guide, their Father, and their 
Loved for thy mercies for thy power adored : 
If at thy name the waves forgot their force, 



And refluent Jordan sought his trembling source; 
If at thy name like sheep the mountains fled, 
And haughty Sirion bowed his marble head ; 
To Israel's woes a pitying ear incline, 
And raise from earth thy long-neglected vine. 
Her rifled fruits behold the heathen bear, 
And wild- wood boars her mangled clusters tear. 
Was it for this she stretched her peopled reign 
From far Euphrates to the western main ? 
For this, o'er many a hill her boughs she threw, 
And her wide arms like goodly cedars grew ? 
For this, proud Edom slept beneath her shade, 
And o'er the Arabian deep her branches played r 

feeble boast of transitory power, 
Vain, fruitless trust of Judah's happier hour ; 
Not such their hope, when through the parted 

The cloudy wonder led the warrior train : 
Net such their hope, when through the fields of 

The torch of heaven diffused its friendly light: 
Not, when fierce Conquest urged the onward war 
And hurled stern Canaan from his iron car : 
Nor, when^five monarchs led to Gibeon's fight, 
In rude array, the harnessed Amorite : 
Yes — in that hour, by mortal accents stayed, 
The lingering sun his fiery wheels delayed : 


rhe moon, obedient, trembled at the sound, 
Curbed her pale car, and checked her mazy- 
Let Sinai tell — for she beheld his might, 
Vnd God's own darkness veiled her mystic 

height : 
He, cherub-borne, upon the whirlwind rode, 
Vnd the red mountain like a furnace glowed :) 
^et Sinai tell — but who shall dare recite 
lis praise, his power, — eternal, infinite? — 
Lwe-struck I cease ; nor bid my strains aspire, 
)r serve his altar with unhallowed fire. 
Such were the cares that watched o'er Israel's 


nd such the glories of their infant state. 
-Triumphant race ; and did your power decay ? 
ailed the bright promise of your early day ? 
o : — by that sword, which, red with heathen 

giant spoil, the stripling champion bore; 
y him, the chief to farthest India known, 
he mighty master of the iv'ry throne ; 
i heaven's own strength, high towering o'er 

her foes, 
ictorious Salem's lion banner rose, 
afore her footstool prostrate nations lay, 
id vassal tyrants crouched beneath her sway. 



— And he, the kingly sage, whose restless mind 
Through nature's mazes wands red unconfmed ; 
Who every bird, and beast, and insect knew, 
And spake of every plant that quaffs the dew : 
To him were known — so Haerar's offspring tell — 
The powerful sigil and the starry spell, 
The midnight call, hell's shadowy legions dread* 
And sounds that burst the slumbers of the dead. 
Henc;' all his might ; for who could these op- 
pose : 
And Tadmor thus, and Syrian Balbec rose. 
Yet e'en the works of toiling Genii fall, 
And vain was Estakhar's enchanted wall. 
In frantic converse with the mournful wind, 
There oft the houseless San ton rests reclined ; 
Strange shapes he views, and drinks with won- 
dering ears 
The voices of the dead. and songs of other years. 

Such, the faint echo of departed praise, 
Still sound A labia's legendary lays ; 
And thus their fabling bards delight to tell 
How lovely were thy tents, O Israel. 

For thee his ivory load behemoth bore, 
And far Sofala teemed with golden ore; 
Thine all the arts that wait on wealth's increase. 
Or bask and wanton in the beam of peace. 
When Tyber slept beneath the cypress gloom, 


And silence held the lonelv woods of Rome ; 
Or ere to Greece the builder's skill was known 
Or the light chisel brushed the Parian stone ; 
Yet here fair Science nursed her infant fire, 
Fanned by the artist aid of friendly Tyre. 
Then towered the palace, then in awful state 
The temple reared its everlasting gate. 
No workman steel, no pond'rous axes rung ; 
Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung. 
Majestic silence! — then the harp awoke, 
The cymbal clanged, the deep-voiced trumpet 

And Salem spread her suppliant arms abroad, 
Viewed the descending flame, and blessed the 

present God. 
Nor shrunk she then, when, raging deep and 

Beat o'er her soul the billows of the proud. 
E'en they who, dragged to Shinor's fiery sand ; 
Tilled with reluctant strength the stranger's 

land ; 
Who sadly told the slow-revolving years, 
And steeped the captive's bitter bread with tears: 
Yet off their hearts with kindling hopes would 

Their destined triumphs, and their glad return, 
And their sad lyres, which, silent and unstrung, 


In mournful ranks on Babel's willows hung, 
Would oft awake to chant their future fame, 
And from the skies their lingering Saviour claim. 
His promised aid could every fear control ; 
This nerved the warrior's arm, this steeled the 

martyr's soul. 
Nor vain their hope : — Bright beaming through 

the sky, 
Burst in full blaze the Day-spring from on high. 
Earth's utmost isles exulted at the sight, 
And crowding nations drank the orient light. 
Lo, star-led chiefs Assyrian odors bring, 
And bending Magi seek their infant King. 
Marked ye, where, hovering o'er his radiant 

The dove's white wings celestial glory shed ? 
Daughter of Sion, virgin queen, rejoice : 
Clap the glad hand, and lift the exulting voice. 
He comes, — but not in regal splendor drest, 
The haughty diadem, the Tyrian vest ; 
Not armed in flame, all glorious from afar, 
Of hosts the chieftain, and the lord of war. 
Messiah comes : let furious discord cease : 
Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace. 
Disease- and anguish feel his blest control, 
And howling fiends release the tortured soul; 
The beams of gladness hell's dark caves illume, 


And Mercy broods above the distant gloom. 
Thou palsied earth, with noonday night o'er- 

Thou sickening sun, so dark, so deep, so red, 
Ye hov'ring ghosts, that throng the starless air, 
Why shakes the earth ? why fades the light ? 

Are those his limbs, with ruthless scourges torn? 
His brows all bleeding with the twisted thorn ? 
His the pale form, the meek forgiving eye, 
Raised from the cross in patient agony ? 
— Be dark, thou sun — thou noonday night, arise, 
And hide, hide, the dreadful sacrifice . 
Ye faithful few, by bold affection led, 
Who round the Saviour's cress your sorrows 

Not for his sake your tearful vigils keep ; — 
Weep for your country, for your children weep, 
— Vengeance, thy fiery wing their race pursued; 
Thy thirsty poniard blushed with infant blood. 
Roused at thy call, and panting still for game, 
The bird of war, the Latian eagle came. 
Then Judah raged, by ruffian Discord led, 
Drunk with the steamy carnage of the dead : 
Hn saw his sons by dubious slaughter fall, 
And war without, and death within the wall. 


Wide-wasting Plague, gaunt Famine, mad De- 
And dire Debate, and clamorous Strife was there: 
Love.strons as Death, retained his mteht no more, 
And the pale parent drank her children's gore. 
Yet they, who wont to roam th' ensanguined 

And spurn with fell delight their kindred slain ; 
E'en they, when high above the dusty fight, 
Their burning Temple rose in lurid light, 
To their loved altars paid a parting groan, 
And in their country's woes forgot their own. 

As 'mid the cedar courts, and gales of gold, 
The trampled ranks in miry carriage rolled, 
To save their Temple every hand essayed, 
And with cold fingers grasped the feeble blade : 
Through their torn veins reviving fury ran, 
And life's last anger warmed the dying man. 

But heavier far the fettered captive's doom ; 
To Mut with si^hs the iron ear of Rome : 
To swell, slow pacing by the car's tall side, 
The stoic tyrant's philosophic pride ; 
To flesh the lion's rav'nous jaws, or feel 
The sportive fury of the fencer's steel ; 
Or pant, deep plunged beneath the sultry mine, 
For the light gales of balmy Palestine. 

Ah, fruitful now no more, — an empty coast, 


She moiirr.el her sons enslaved, her glories lo3t . 
In her wide streetf the lonely raven bred, 
There barked the wolf, and dire hyaenas fed. 
Yet midst her tovvery fanes, in ruin laid, 
The pilgrim saint his murmuring vespers paid. 
'T was his to climb the tufted rocks, and rove 
The chequered twilight of the olive grove ; 
'T was his to bend beneath the sacred gloom. 
And wear with many a kiss Messiah's tomb ; 
"While forms celestial filled his tranced eye, 
The day-light dreams of pensive piety, 
O'er his still breast a tearful fervor stole. 
And softer sorrows charmed the mourner's soul. 

0, lives there one, who mocks his artless zeal? 
Too proud to worship, and too wise to feel ? 
Be his the soul with wintry Reason blest, 
The dull, lethargic sovereign of the breast. 
Be his the life that creeps in dead repose, 
No joy that sparkles, and no tear that flows. 

Far other they who reared yon pompous shrine 
And bade the rock with Parian marble shine. 
Then hallowed Peace renewed her wealthy 

Then altars smoked, and Sion smiled again. 
There sculptured gold and costly gems were seen, 
And all the bounties ol the British queen ; 
There barb'rous kings their sandaled nations led. 
And steel-clad champions bowed the crested 


There, when her fiery race the desert poured, 
And pale Byzantium feared Medina's sword, 
When coward Asia shook in trembling wo, 
And bent appalled before the Bactrian bow; 
From the moist regions of the western star 
The wand'ring hermit waked the storm of war. 
Their limbs all iron, and their souls all flame, 
A countless host, the red-cross warriors came. 
E'en hoary priests the sacred combat wage, 
And clothe in steel the palsied arm of age; 
While beardless youths and tender maids assume 
The weighty morion and the glancing plume. 
In sportive pride the warrior damsels wield 
The ponderous falchion, and the sunlike shield, 
And start to see their armor's iron gleam 
Dance with blue lustre in Tabaria's stream. 

The blood-red banner floating o'er their van, 
All madly blithe the mingled myriads ran. 
Impatient Death beheld his destined food, 
And hovering vultures snuffed the scent of blood. 

Not such the numbers, nor the host so dread? 
By Northern Brenn or Scythian Timor led, 
Nor such the heart -inspiring zeal that bore 
United Greece to Phrygia's reedy shore. 
There Gaul's proud knights with boastful mien 

From the long line, and shake the cornel lance ; 


Here, linked with Thrace, in close battalions 

•\usonia's sons, a soft inglorious band ; the stern Norman joins the Austrian train, 
\nd the dark tribes of late reviving Spain ; 
Here in black files, advancing firm and slow, 
Victorious Albion twangs the deadly bow : — 
\lbion, still prompt the captive's wrong to aid 
\nd wield in freedom's cause the freeman's gen- 
erous blade. 

Ye sainted spirits of the warrior dead, 
iVhose giant force Britannia's armies led, 
A'hose bickering falchions, foremost in the fight, 
Still poured confusion on the Soldan's might; 

ords of the biting axe and beamy spear, 
»Vide conquering Edward, lion Richard, hear. 
U Albion's call your crested pride resume, 
Vnd burst the marble slumbers of the tomb, 
four sons behold, in arm, in heart the same, 
Still press the footsteps of parental fame, 
To Salem still their generous aid supply, 
^nd pluck the palm of Syrian chivalry. 

When he, from towery Malta's yielding isle, 
ind the green waters of reluctant Nile, 
"h' apostate chief, — from Misraim's subject shore 
n o Acre's walls his trophied banners bore ; 
Vhen the pale desert marked his proud array, 


And Desolation hoped an ampler sway ; 
What hero then triumphant Gaul dismayed ? 
What arm repelled the victor renegade ? 
Britannia's champion : — bathed in hostile blood 
High on the breach the dauntless seaman stood; 
Admiring Asia saw th' unequal fight, — 
E'en the pale cresent blessed the Christian* 

O day of death ; O thirst, beyond control, 
Of crimson conquest in th' invader's soul. 
The slain, yet warm, by social footsteps trod, 
O'er the red moat supplied a panting road ; 
O'er the red moat our conquering thunders flew 
And loftier still the grisly rampire grew. 
While proudly glowed above the rescued tower 
The wavy cross that marked Britannia's power. 
Yet still destruction sweeps the lonely plain, 
And heroes lift the generous sword in vain. 
Still o'er her sky the clouds of anger roll, 
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her soul. 
Yet shall she lise ; — but not by war restored, 
Not built in murder — planted by the sword. 
Yes, Salem, thou shalt rise ; thy Father's aid 
Shall heal the wound his chastening hand ha 

Shall judge the proud oppressor's ruthless sway 


ind burst his brazen bonds, and cast his cords 

'hen on your tops shall deathless verdure spring; 
ireak forth, ye mountains, and, ye valleys,sing. 
'o more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn, 
"he unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn ; 
'he sultry sands shall tenfold harvests yield, 
nd a new Eden deck the thorny field, 
'en now, perchance, wide waving o'er the land, 
hat mighty angel lifts his golden wand, 
ourts the bright vision of descending power, 
ells every gate, and measures every tower ; 
nd chides the tardy seals that yet detain 
hv Lion, Judah,from his destined reign. 
And who is He ? the vast, the awful form, 
irt with the whirlwind,, sandaled with the 

storm I 
k western cloud around his limbs is spread. 
is crown a rainbow, and a sun his head, 
o highest heaven he lifts his kingly hand, 
nd treads at once the ocean and the land ; 
nd, hark : his voice amid the thunder's roar, 
is dreadful voice, that time shall be no more. 
lLo, cherub hands The golden courts prepare, 
o, thrones arise, and every saint is there, 
arth's utmost bounds confess their awful swav. 
he mountains worship, and the isles obev. 


Nor sun nor moon they need, — nor day 3 n 

God is their temrde, and the Lamb their light. 
And shall not Israel's sons exulting come, 
Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient hom< 
On David's throne shall David's offspring reign 
And the dry bones be warm with life again. 
Hark, white-robed crowds their deep hosann 

And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of prais 
Ten thousand harps attune the mystic song, 
Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolon; 
'Worthy the Lamb, omnipotent to save, 
Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave 









kT that dread season when th y indignant north 
'oured to vain wars her tardy numbers forth, 
Vhen Frederic bent his ear to Europe's cry, 
And fanned too late the flame of liberty ; 
5y feverish hope oppressed, and anxious thought, 
n Dresden's grove the dewy cool I sought. 
Through tangled boughs the broken moonshine 

Vnd Elbe slept soft beneath his linden shade — 
t'et slept not all ; — I heard the ceaseless jar, 
The rattling wagons, and the wheels of war, 
The sounding lash, the march's mingled hum, 
\nd, lost and heard by fits, the languid drum ; 
3'er the near bridge the thundering hoofs that 

4nd the far-distant fife that thrilled along the 

Yes, sweet it seems across some watery dell 


To catch the music of the pealing bell ; 
And sweet to list, as on the beach we stray, 
The ship-boy's carol in the wealthy bay : 
But sweet no less, when Justice points the speat 
Of martial wrath the glorious din to hear, 
To catch the war-note on the quivering gale, 
And bid the blood red paths of conquest hail. 

O, song of hope, too long delusive strain. 
And hear we now thy Mattering voice again ? 
But late, alas, I left thee cold and still, 
Stunned by the wrath of Heaven, on Pratzen'i 

O, on that hill may no k nd month renew 
The fertile rain, the sparkling summer dew. 
Accursed of God, may those bleak summits tell 
The field of anger where the mighty fell. 
There youthful Faith and high born Courage rest, 
And, red with slaughter, Freedom's humbled 

There Europe,soiled with blood her tresses gray, 
And ancient Honor's shield — all vilely thrown 



Thus mu^ed my soul, a* in succession drear 
Rose each grim shape of Wrath and Doubt and 

Defeat and sbame in grizzly vision passed, 


And Vengeance, bought with blood, and glori- 
ous Death the last. 
Then as my gaze their waving eagles met, 
And through the night each sparkling bayonet, 
Still memory told how Austria's evil hour 
Had felt on Praga's field a Frederic's power, 
And Gallia's vaunting train, and Mosco's horde, 
Had fleshed the maiden steel of Brunswic's 

! yet, I deemed, that Fate, by Justice led, 
Micrht wreath once more the veteran's silver 

head ; 
That Europe's ancient pride would yet disdain 
The cumbrous sceptre of a single reign ; 
That conscious right would tenfold strength af- 
And heaven assist the patriot's holy sword, 
And look in mercy through th' auspicious sky, 
To bless the saviour host of Germany. 

And are they dreams, these bodings, such as 
Their lonely comfort o'er the hermit's bed ? 
And are they dreams ? or can the Eternal Mind 
Care for a sparrow, yet neglect mankind ? 
Why, if the dubious battle own his power, 
And the red sabre, where he bids, devour, 
Why then can one the curse of worlds deride, 


34 . EUROPE. 

And millions weep a tyrant's single pride ? 

Thus sadly musing, far my footsteps strayed, 
Rapt in the visions of the Aonian maid. 
It was not she, whose lonely voice I hear 
Fall in soft whispers on my love-lorn ear ; 
My daily guest, who wont my steps to guide 
Through the green walks of scented even-tide. 
Or stretched with me in noonday ease along, 
To list the reaper's chaunt, or throstle's song: 
But she of loftier port, whose grave control 
Rules the fierce workings of the patriot's soul ; 
She, whose high presence, o'er the midnight oil, 
With fame's bright promise cheers the student's 

That same was she, whose ancient lore refined 
The sober hardihood of Sidnev's mind. 
Borne on her wing, no more I seemed to rove 
By Dresden's glittering spires, and linden grove; 
No more the giant Elbe, all silver bright, 
Spread his broad bosom to the fair moonlight, 
While the still margent of his ample flood 
Bore the dark image of the Saxon wood — 
(Woods happy once, that heard the carols free 
Of rustic love, and cheerful industry ; 
Now dull and joyless lie their alleys green, 
And silence marks the tract where France ha? 


Far other scenes than these my fancy viewed; 
Rocks rohed in ice, a mountain solitude ; 
Where on Helvetian hills, in godlike state, 
Alone and awful, Europe's angel sate. 
Silent and stern he sate ; then bending low, 
Listened the ascending plaints of human wo, 
And waving as in grief his towery head, 
' Not yet, not yet the day of rest,' he said ; 
' It may not be. Destruction's gory wing- 
Soars o'er the banners of the younger king, 
Too rashly brave, who seeks with single sway- 
To stem the lava on its destined way. 
Poor, glittering warriors, only wont to know 
The bloodless pageant of a martial show ; 
Nurselings of peace, for fiercer fights prepare, 
And dread the step-dame sway of unaccustomed 

They fight, they bleed — O, had that blood 

been shed 
When Charles and valor Austria's armies led, 
Had these stood forth the nVhteous cause to 

When victory wavered on Moravia's field, 
Then France had mourned her conquests made 

in vain, 
Her backward-beaten ranks, and countless slain, 
Then had the strength of Europe's freedom 



And still the Rhine had rolled a German flood. 
4 O, nursed in many a wile,and practised long 
To spoil the poor, and cringe before the strong, 
To swell the victor's state, and hovering near, 
Like some base vulture in the battle's rear, 
To watch the carnage of the field, and share 
Each loathsome alms the prouder eagles spare: 
A curse is on thee, Brandenburgh, the sound 
Of Poland's wailing drags thee to the ground, 
And drunk with guilt, thy harlot, lips shall know 
The bitter dregs cf Austria's cup of wo. 

1 Enough of vengeance. O'er the ensanguined 
I gaze, and seek their numerous host in vain, 
Gone like the locust band, when whirlwinds 

Their flimsy legions through the waste of air. 
Enough of vengeance. By the glorious dead, 
Who bravely fell where youthful Lewis led, 
By Blucher's sword in fiercest danger tried, 
And the true heart that burst when Brunswic 

By her whose charms the coldest zeal might 

The manliest firmness in the fairest form — 
Save, Europe, save the remnant. — Yet remains 
One glorious path to free the world from chains. 
Why, when your northern band in Eylau's wood 


Retreating struck, and tracked their eourse with 

While one firm rock the floods of ruin stayed, 
Why, generous Austria,were thy wheels delayed? 
And Albion !' — Darker sorrow veiled his brow — 
■ Friend of the friendless — Albion, where art thou ? 
Child of the Sea, whose wing-like sails are spread, 
The covering cherub of the ocean's bed ; 
The storm and tempest render peace to thee, 
And the wild-roaring waves a stern security. 
But hope not thou in Heaven's own strength to 

Freedom':* loved ark, o'er broad oppression's tide, 
If virtue leave thee, if thy careless eye 
Glance in contempt on Europe's agony. 
Alas! where now the bands who wont to pour 
Their strong deliverance on the Egyptian shore ? 
Wing, wing your course, a prostrate world to save, 
Triumphant squadrons of Trafalgar's wave. 

1 And thou, blest star of Europe's darkest hour, 
Whose w r ords were wisdom, and whose counsels 

Whom Earth applauded through her peopled 

(Alas! whom Earth too early lost deplores; — ) 
Young without follies, without rashness bold, 
And greatly poor amidst a nation's gold ; 


Tn every veering gale of faction true, 
Untarnished Chatham's genuine child, adieu. 
Unlike our common suns, whose gradual ray- 
Expands from twilight to intenser day, 
Thy blaze broke forth at once in full meridian 

0, proved in danger, not the fiercest flame 
Of Discord's rago thy constant soul could tame ; 
Not when, far-striding o'er thy palsied land, 
Gigantic Treason took his bolder stand ; 
Not when w r ild Zeal, by murderous Faction led, 
On Wicklow's hills, her grass-green banner 

spread ; 
Or those stern conquerors of the restless wave 
Defied the native soil they wont to save. — 
Undaunted patriot, in that dreadful hour, 
When pride and genius own a sterner power ; 
When the dimmed eyeball, and the struggling 

And pain, and terror, mark advancing death ; — 
Still in that breast thy country held her throne, 
Thy toil, thy fear, thy prayer were hers alone, 
Thy last faint effort hers, and hers thy parting 

Yes, from tho?e lips while fainting nations drew 
Hope ever strong, and courage ever new ; — 
Yet, yet, I deemed, by that supporting hand 


Propped in her fall might Freedom's ruin stand; 
And purged by fire, and stronger from the storm. 
Degraded Justice rear her reverend form. 
Now, hope, adieu ; — adieu the generous care 
To shield the weak, and tame the proud in war; 
The golden chain of realms, when equal awe 
Poised the strong balance of impartial law ; 
When rival states as federate sisters shone, 
Alike, yet various, and though many, one ; 
And, bright and numerous as the spangled sky. 
Beamed each fair star of Europe's galaxy — 
All, all are gone, and after- time shall trace 
One boundless rule, one undistinguished race ; 
Twilight of worth, where nought remains to move 
The patriot's ardor, or the subject's love. 

c Behold, e'en now, while every manly lore 
And every muse forsakes my yielding shore ; 
Faint, vapid fruits of slavery's sickly clime, 
Each tinsel art succeeds, and harlot rhyme ; 
To gild the vase, to bid the purple spread 
In sightly foldings o'er the Grecian bed, 
Their mimic guard where sculptured gryphons 

And Memphian idols watch o'er beauty's sleep 
To rouse the slumbering sparks of faint desire 
With the base tinkling of the Teian lyre, 
While youth's enervate glance and gloating age 


Hang o'er the mazy waltz, or pageant stage, 
Each wayward wish of sickly taste to please, 
The nightly re^ el and the noontide ease — 
These, Europe, are thy toils, thy trophies these. 
' So, when wide- wasting hail, or whelming rain 
Have strowed the bearded hope of golden grain,. 
From the wet furrow, struggling to the skies, 
The tall, rank weeds in barren splendor rise ; 
And strong, and towering o'er the mildewed ear, 
Uncomely flowers and baneful herbs appear: 
The swain's rich toils to useless poppies yield, 
And Famine stalks along the purple field. 

6 And thou, the poet's theme, the patriot's 

prayer : 
Where, France, thy hopes, thy gilded promise 

where ; 
When o'er Montpelier's vines, and Jura's snows, 
All goodly bright, young Freedom's planet rose ? 
What boots it now, (to our destruction brave,) 
How strong thine arm in war ? a valiant slave. 
What boots it now that wide thine eagles sail, 
Fanned by the flattering breath of conquest's gale, 
What, that, high-piled within yon ample dome, 
The blood-bought treasures rest of Greece and 

Rome ? 
Scourge of the highest, bolt in vangeance hurled 
By Heaven's dread justice on a shrinking world, 


Go, vanquished victor, bend thy proud helm down 
Before thy sullen tyrant's steely crown. 
For him in Afric's sands, and Poland's snows, 
Reared by thy toil the shadowy laurel grows ; 
And rank in German fields the harvest springs 
Of pageant councils and obsequious kings. 
Such purple slaves, of glittering fetters vain, 
Linked the wide circuit of the Latian chain; 
And slaves like these shall every tyrant find, 
To gild oppression, and debase mankind. 

1 0, live there yet whose hardy souls and high 
Peace bought with shame, and tranquil bonds 

defy ? 
Who, driven from every shore, and lords in vain 
Of the wide prison of the lonely main, 
Cling to their country's rights with Freeborn zeal, 
More strong from every stroke, and patient oF 

the steel ? 
Guiltless of chains, to them has Heaven consigned 
Th' entrusted cause of Europe and mankind : 
Or hope we yet in Sweden's martial snows 
That Freedom's weary foot may find repose ? 
No — from yon hermit shade, yon cypress dell, 
Where faintly peals the distant matin-bell; 
Where bigot kings and tyrant priests had shed 
Their sleepy venom o'er his dreadful head ; 
He wakes, th' avenger — hark ! the hills around, 



Untamed Asturia bids her clarion sound ; 
And many an ancient rock, and fleecy plain, 
And many a vailiant heart returns the strain : 
Heard by that shore, where Calpe's armed steep 
Flings its long shadow o'er th' Herculean deep, 
And Lucian glades, whose hoary poplars wave 
In soft, sad murmurs over Inez' grave. 
They bless the call who dared the first withstand 
The Moslem wasters of their bleeding land, 
When firm in faith,and red with slaughtered foes, 
Thy spear-encircled crown, Asturia, rose. 
Nor these alone ; as loud the war-notes swell, 
La Mancha's shepherd quits his cork-built eel! ; 
Alhama's strength is there, and those who till 
(A hardy race !) Morena's scortched hill ; 
And in rude arms through wide Galicia's reign. 
The swarthy vintage pours her vigorous train. 
'Saw ye those tribes? not theirs the plumed 
The sightly trappings of a marshalled host ; 
No weeping nations curse their deadly skill, 
Expert in danger, and inured to kill : — 
But theirs the kindling eye, the strenuous arm ; 
Theirs the dark cheek, with patriot ardor warm, 
Unblancbed by sluggard ease, or slavish fear, 
And proud and pure the blood that mantles there. 
Theirs from the birth is toil;— o'er granite steep, 


And heathy wild, to guard the wandering -iheep, 
To urge the laboring mule, or bend the spear 
'Gainst the night-prowling wolf, or felon bear; 
The bull's hoarse rage in dreadful sport to mock, 
And meet with single sword his bellowing shock. 
Each martial chant they know, each manly rhyme, 
Rude, ancient lays of Spain's heroic time. 
Of him in Xeres' carnage fearless found, 
(His glittering brows with hostile spear-heads 

bound ;) 
Of that chaste king whose hardy mountain train 
O'erthrew the knightly race of Charlemagne ; 
And chiefest him who reared his banner tall 
(Illustrious exile,) o'er Valencia's wall ; 
Ungraced by kings, whose Moorish title rose 
The toil-earned homage of his wondering foes. 

* Yes ; every mould'ring tower and haunted 
And the wild murmurs- of the waving wood ; 
Each sandy waste, and orange scented dell, 
And red Buraba's field, and Lugo, tell, 
How their brave fathers fought, how thick the 
invaders fell. 

1 O, virtue long forgot, or vainly tried, 
To glut a bigot's zeal, or tyrant's pride ; 
Condemned in distant climes to bleed and die 
'Mid the dank poisons of Tlascala's sky ; 


Or when stern Austria stretched her lawless reign 
And spent in northern fights the fi< wer of Spain; 
Or war's hoarse furies veiled on Y. ell's shore, 
And Alva's ruffian sword was drunk with gore. 
Y r et dared not then Tlascala's chiefs withstand 
The lofty daring of Castilia's band ; 
And weeping France her captive king deplored, 
And cursed the deathful point of Ebro's sword. 
Now, nerved with hope, their night of slavery 

Each heart beats high ki freedom's buxom blast; 
Lo, Conquest calls, and beckoning from afar, 
Uplifts his laurel wreath, and waves them on to 

— Wo to th' usurper then, who dares defy 
The sturdy wrath of rustic loyalty. 
Wo to the hireling bands, foredoomed to feel 
How strong in labor's horny hand the steel. 
Behold e'en now, beneath yon Bcetic skies 
Another Pavia bids her trophies rise. — 
E'en now in base disguise and friendly night 
Their robber-monarch speeds his secret flight ; 
And with new zeal the fiery Lusians rear, 
(Roused by their neighbor's worth,) the long- 
neglected spear. 
1 So when stern winter chills the April showers, 
And iron frost forbids the timely flowers, 


0, deem not thou the vigorous herb below 
Is crushed and dead beneath the incumbent snow. 
Such tardy suns shall wealthier harvests bring 
Than all the early smiles of flattering spring.' 

Sweet as the martial trumpet's silver swell, 
On my charmed sense th' unearthly accents fell ; 
Me wonder held, and joy chastised by fear, 
As one who wished, yet hardly hoped to hear. 
i Spirit.' I cried, * dread teacher, yet declare, 
In that good fight, shall Albion's arm be there ? 
Can Albion, brave, and wise, and proud, refrain 
To hail a kindred soul, and link her fate with 

Spain ? 
Too long her sons, estranged from war and toil, 
Have loathed the safety of the sea-girt isle ; 
And chid the waves which pent their fire within, 
As the stalled war-horse woes the battle's din. 
0, by this throbbing heart, this patriot glow, 
Which, well I feel, each English breast shall 

Say, shall my country, roused from deadly sleep, 
Crowd with her hardy sons yon western steep ; 
And shall once more the star of France grow pale, 
And dim its beams in Roncesvalles' vale ? 
Or shall foul sloth and timid doubt conspire 
To mar our zeal, and waste our manly fire ?' 

Still as I gazed, his lowering features spread, 


High rose his form,and darkness veiled his heac 
Fast from his eyes the ruddy lightning broke, 
To heaven he reared his arm, and thus he spoke 

'Wo, trebly wo to their slow zeal who bore 
Delusive comfort to Iberia's shore. 
Who in mid conquest, vaunting, yet dismayed, 
Now gave and now withdrew their laggard aid . 
Who, when each bosom glowed, each heart bea 

Chilled the pure stream of England's energy, 
And lost in courtly form- and blind delay 
The loitered hours of glory's short-livedMay. 

' peerless island, generous, bold, and free, 
Lost, ruined Albion, Europe mourns for thee. 
Hadst thou but known the hour in mercy given 
To stay thy doom, and ward the ire of heaven ; 
Bared in the cause of man thy warrior breast, 
And crushed on yonder hills the approaching pest, 
Then had not murder sacked thy smiling plain, 
And wealth, and worth,and wisdom all been vain. 

1 Yet, yet awake, while fear and wonder wait, 
On the poised balance, trembling still with fate. 
If aught their worth can plead, in battle tried, 
Who tinged with slaughter Tajo's curdling tide ; 
(What time base truce the wheels of war could 

And the weak victor flung his wreath away)-=~ 


Or theirs, who, doled in scanty hands afar, 
Waged without hope the disproportioned war, 
And cheerly still, and patient of distress, 
Led their forwasted files on numbers numberless. 

(' Yes, through the march of many a weary day, 
As yon dark column toils his seaward way ; 
As bare, and shrinking from th' inclement sky, 
The languid soldier bends him down to die ; 
As o'er those helpless limbs, by murder gored, 
The base pursuer waves his weaker sword, 
And,trod to earth, by trampling thousands pressed, 
The horse-hoof glances from that mangled breast; 
E'en in that hour his hope to England flies, 
And fame and vengeance fire his closing: eves. 

' 0, if such hope can plead, or his, whose bier 
Drew from his conquering host their latest tear, 
Whose skill, whose matchless valor, gilded flight. 
Entombed in foreign dust,a hasty soldier's rite ; — 
0, rouse thee yet to conquer and to save, 
And Wisdom guide the sword which Justice gave. 

'And yet the end is not : from yonder towers, 
While one Saguntum mocks the victor's powers, 
While one brave heart defies a servile chain, 
And one true soldier wields a lance for Spain ; 
Trust not, vain tyrant, though thy spoiler band 
In tenfold myriads darken half the land ; 
(Vast as that power, against whose impious lord 


Bethuha's matron shook the nightly sword :) 
Though ruth and fear thy woundless sou) defy, 
And fatal genius fire thy martial eye ; 
Yet trust not here o'er yielding realms to roam, 
Or cheaply bear a bloodless laurel home. 

8 No, by His viewless arm whose righteous 
Defends the orphan's tear, the poor man's prayer; 
Who, Lord of nature, o'er this changeful ball 
Decrees the rise of empires, and the fall : 
Wondrous in all his ways, unseen, unknown, 
Who treads the wine-press of the world alone : 
And robed in darkness, and surrounding fears, 
Speeds on their destined road the march of 

No : — shall yon eagle, from the snare set free, 
Stoop to thy wrist, or cower his wing for thee ? 
And shall it tame despair, thy strong control, 
Or quench a nation's still reviving soul? — 
Go, bid the force of countless bands conspire 
To curb the wandering wind, or grasp the fire ; 
Cast thy vain fetters on the troublous sea ! — 
But Spain, the brave, the virtuous, shall be free.' 






With heat o'erlabored and the length of way, 
On Ethan's beach the bands of Israel lay. 
'T was silence all, the sparkling sands along, 
Save where the locust trilled her feeble t-ong, 
Or blended soft in drowsy cadence fell 
The wave's low whisper or the camel's bell. — 
'T was silence all. — The flocks for shelter fly 
Where, waving light, the acacia shadows lie, 
Or where, from far, the flattering vapors make 
Tbe noontide semblance of a misty lake : 
While the mute swain, in careless safety spread, 
With arms enfolded, and dejected head, 
Dreams o'er his wondrous call, his lineage high, 
And, late revealed, hia children's destiny. 
For, not in vaia, in thraldom's darkest hour, 


Had sped from Amram's sons the word of powt 
Nor failed the dreadful wand, whose god-lh 

Could lure the locust from her airy way, 
With reptile war assail their proud abodes, 
And mar the giant pomp of Egypt's gods. 
O helpless gods, who nought availed to shield 
From fiery rain your Zoan's favored field. 
O helpless gods, who saw the curdled blood 
Taint the pure lotus of your ancient flood, 
And fcurfold-night the wondering earth enchaii. 
While Memnon's orient harp was heard in vain. 
Such musings held the tribes, till now the wes 
With milder influence on their temples pressed 
And that portentous cloud which, all the day, 
Hung its dark curtain o'er their weary way, 
(A cloud by day. a friendly flame by night,) 
Rolled back its misty veil, and kindled into light 
Soft fell the eve. But, ere the day was done, 
Tall, waving banners streaked the level sun ; 
And wide and dark along th' horizon red, 
In sandy surge the rising desert spread. — 
* Mark, Israel, mark!' — On that strange sigh 

In breathless terror, every eye was bent, 
And busy faction's undistinguised hum, 


And female shrieks arose, * They come, they 

come i* 
They come, they come, in scintillating show 
O'er the dark mass the brazen lances glow, 
And sandy clouds in countless shapes combine, 
As deepens or extends the long tumultuous line. 
And fancy's keener glance e'en now may trace 
The threatening aspects of each mingled race ; 
For many a coal-black tribe and cany spear, 
The hireling guards of Misraim's throne, were 

From distant Cush they trooped, a warrior train, 
Siwfth's green isle and Sennaar's marly plain : 
On either wing their fiery coursers check 
The parched and sinewy sons of Amalek : 
While close behind, inured to feast on blood, 
Decked in Behemoth's spoils, the tall Shangalla 

'Mid blazing helms and bucklers rough with 

Saw ye how swift the scythed chariot rolled ? 
Lo, these are they whom, lords of A file's fates, 
Old Thebes had poured through all her hundred 

Mother of armies. How the emeralds glowed, 
Where, flushed with power and vengeance, Pha- 
raoh rode; 


And stoled in white, those brazen wheels before, 
Osiris' ark his swarthy wizards bore, 
And still responsive to the trumpet's cry 
The priestly sistrum murmured — Victory ? — 
Why swell these shouts that rend the desert 1 * 

gloom ? 
Whom come ye forth to combat ? — warriors 

whom ? — 
These flocks and herds — this faint and wearv 

train — 
Red from the scourge and recent from the chain: 
God of the poor, the poor and friendless save. 
Giver and Lord of freedom, help the slave. — 
North, south, and west the sandy whirlwinds fly. 
The circling horns of Egypt's chivalry. 
On earth's last margin throng the weeping train. 
Their cloudy guide moves on : — { And must we 

swim the main ?' 
5 3lid the light spray their snorting camels stood — 
Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood — 
He comes — their leader comes : — the man of 
God I 

O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod, 
And onward treads. The circling waves retreat, 
In hoarse deep murmurs, from his holy feet ; 
And the chafed surges, inly roaring, show 
The hard wet sand and coral hills below. 


v'ith limbs that falter, and with hearts that swell, 
)o\\n, clown they pass— a steep and slippery dell 
round them rise, in pristine chaos hurled, 
he ancient rocks, the secrets of the world ; 
nd flowers that blush beneath the ocean green, 
Old caves, the sea-calves' low roofed haunt, are 

town, safely down the narrow pass they tread : 
he beetling; waters storm above their head : 
v'hile far behind retires the sinking day, 
.nd fades on Edom's hills its latest ray. 

Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light, 
>r dark to them, or cheerless came the night, 
•till in their van, along that dreadful road, 
>lazed broad and fierce the brandished torch of 


ts meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave 
)n the long mirror of the rosy wave : 
S'hile its blest beams a sunlike heat supply, 
Varm every cheek and dance in every eye — 
"o them alone — for Misraim's wizard train 
nvoke for light their monster-gods in vain : 
louds heaped on clouds their struggling sight 

md tenfold darkness broods above their line, 
t'et on they fare by reckless vengeance led, 
Vnd range unconscious through the ocean's bed. 



Till midway now — that strange and fiery form 
Showed his dread visage lightening through il 

storm ; 
With withering splendor blasted all their migr 
And broke their chariot- wheels, and marred the 

coursers' flight. 
' Fly, Misraim. fly :' — The ravenous floods the 

And fiercer than the floods, the Deity. 
1 Fly, Misraim, fly :' — From Edom'9 coral strar 
Again the prophet stretched his dreadful wand :- 
With one wild crash the thundering waters swee 
And all is waves — a dark and lonely deep — 
Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs pas 
As mortal wailing swelled the nightly blast : 
And strange and sad the whispering breezes bor 
The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore. 
O, welcome came the morn, where Israel 

In trustless wonder by the avenging flood : 
O, welcome came the cheerful morn, to show 
The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below : 
The mangled limbs of men — the broken car — 
A few sad relics of a nation's war : 
Alas, how few ! — Then, soft as Elim's well 
The precious tears of new-born freedom fell. 
And he, whose hardened heart alike had borne 


The house of bondage and the oppressor's scorn, 
The stubborn slave, by hope's new bca us subdued, 
In faltering accents sobbed his gratitude — 
Till kindling into warmer zeal, around 
The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound : 
And in fierce joy, no more by doubt suppressed' 
rhc struggling spirit throbbed in Miriam's breast. 
She, with bare arms, and fixing on the sky 
rhe dark transparence of her lucid eye, 
^oured on the winds of heaven her wild sweet 

Where now,' she sang, c the tall Egyptian spear ? 
)n's sunl'ke shield, and Zoan's chariot, where ? 
ibove their ranks the whelming waters spread, 
ihout, Israel, for the Lord ha- triumphed.' — 
md every pause between, as Miriam sang, 
'rom tribe to tiibe the martial thunder rang, 
nd loud and far their stormy chorus spread, — 
Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphed.' 





Ye viewless guardians of these sacred shades, 
Dear dreams of early song, Aonian maids! — 
And you, illustrious dead, whose spirits speak 
In every flush that tints the student's cheek, 
As, wearied with the world, he seeks again 
The page of better times and greater men ; 
If with pure worship we yoursteps pursue, 
And youth, and health, and rest forget for you 
(Whom most we serve, to whom our lamp bur 

Through the long toils of not ingrateful night, 
Yet, yet be present. — Let the worldly train 
Mock our cheap joys, and hate our useless straii 
Intent on freighted wealth, or proud to rear 
The fleece Iberian or the pampered steer ; — 
Let sterner science with unwearied eye 
Explore the circling spheres and map the sky 
His long-drawn mole let lordly commerce 6c? 


And of his iron arch the rainbow span : 

Yet, while in burning characters impressed, 

The poet's lesson stamps the youthful breast, 

Rids the rapt boy o'er suffering virtue bleed, 

Adore a brave or bless a gentle deed, 

And in warm feeling from the storied page 

Arise the saint, the hero, or the sage ; 

Such be our toil ! — Nor doubt we to explore 

The thorny maze of dialectic lore, 

To climb the chariot of the gods, or scan 

The secret workings of the soul of man ; 

Upborne aloft on Plato's eagle flight, 

Or the slow pinion of the Stagyrite ; 

And those gray spoils of Herculanean pride, 

If aught of yet untasted sweets they hide ; 

If Padua's sage be there, or art have power 

To wake Menander from his secret bovver j 

Such be our toil ! — Nor vain the labor proves, 

Which Oxford honors, and which Grenville loves. 

— On, eloquent and firm ! — whose warning high 

Rebuked the rising surge of anarchy, 

When, like those brethren stars to seamen known, 

In kindied splendor Pitt and Grenville shone ; 

3n in thy glorious course ; not yet the wave 

Has ceased to lash the shore, nor storm forgot to 

Go on ; and 0, while adverse factions raise 
To thy pure worth involuntary praise ; 


While Gambia's swarthy tribes thy mercies blesi 
And from thy counsels date their happiness ; 
Say, (for thine Isis yet recalls with pride 
Thy youthful triumphs by her leafy side,) 
Say, hast thou scorned, 'mid pomp, and wealth 

and power, 
r Ihe sober transports of a studious hour ? — 
No, statesman, no ! — thy patiiot fire was fed 
From the warm embers of the mighty dead ; 
And thy strong spirit's patient grasp combined 
The souls of ages in a single mind. 
— By arts like these, amidst a world of foes, 
Eye of the earth, th' Athenian glory rose; — 
Thus, last and best of Romans, Brutus shone ; 
Our Somers thus, and thus our Clarendon ; 
Such Cobham was ; — such, Grenviile, long be 

Our boast before — our chief and champion now. 





Sailor, if vigor nerve thy frame, 
If to high deeds thy soul is* strung, 

Revere this stone, that gives to fame 
The brave, the virtuous, and the young. 

For manly beauty flecked his form, 

His bright eye beamed with mental power; 
Resistless as the winter storm, 

Yet mild as summer's mildest shower. 

In war's hoarse rage, in ocean's strife, 
For skill, for force, for mercy known ; 

Still prompt to shield a comrade's life, 
And greatly careless of his own. 

Yet, youthful seaman, mourn not thou 
The fate these artless lines recall ; 

No, Cambrian, no, be thine the vow, 
Like him to live, like him to fall. 



But hast thou known a father's care, 
Who sorrowing sent thee forth to sea ; 

Poured for thy weal the unceasing prayer, 
And thought, the sleepless night, on thee ? 

Has e'er thy tender fancy flown, 

When winds were strong and waves were 

Where, listening to the tempest's moan, 
Thy sisters heaved the anxious sigh ? 

Or in the darkest hour of dread, 

'Mid war's wild din, and ocean's swell, 

Hast mourned a hero brother dead, 
And did that brother love thee well ? 

Then pity those whose sorrows flow 
In vain o'er Shipley's empty grave ; — 

Sailor, thou weep'st : — Indulge thy wo ; 
Such tears will not disgrace the brave. 


Our task is done ; on Gunga's breast 
The sun is sinking down to rest; 
And moored beneath the tamarind bough, 
Our bark has found its harbor now. 
With furled sail, and painted side, 
Behold the tiny frigate ride. 
Upon her deck, 'mid charcoal gleams, 
The Moslems' savory supper steams, 
While all apart, beneath the wood, 
The Hindoo cooks his simpler food. 

Come, walk with me the jungle through; 
If yonder hunter told us true, 
Far orT, in desert dank and rude, 
The tiger hoids his solitude ; 
Nor (taught by secret charm to shun 
The thunders of the English gun,) 
A dreadful guest but rarely seen, 
Returns to scare the village areen. 
Come boldly on ; no venomed snake 
Can shelter in so cool a brake : 
Child of the sun, he loves to lie 
"Mid nature's embers parched and dry, 


Where, o'er some tower in ruin laid, 

The peepul spreads iti haunted shade, 

Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe, 

Fit warder in the gate of death, 

Come on — yet pause : behold us now 

Beneath the bamboo's arched bough. 

Where gemming oft that sacred gloom, 

Glows the geranium's scarlet bloom, 

And winds our path through many a bower 

Of fragrant tree and giant flower; 

The ceiba's crimson pomp displayed 

O'er the broad plantain's humbler shade, 

And dusk anana's prickly blade; 

While o'er the brake, so wild and fair, 

The betel waves his oestin air. 

W r ith pendent train and rushing w T ing-s, 

Aloft the gorgeous peacock springs ; 

And he, the bird of hundred dyes, 

Whose plumes ihe dames of Ava prize. 

So rich a shade, so green a sod, 

Our English fairies never trod ; 

Yet who in Indian bower has stood, 

But thought on England's 'good green wood?' 

And blessed, beneath the palmy shade, 

Her hazel and her hawthorn glade, 

And breathed a prayer, (how oft in vain,) 

To gaze upon her oaks again ? 

A truce to thought : the jackal's cry 


Resounds like sylvan revelry ; 
And through the trees, yon tailing ray 
Will scantly serve to guide our way. 
Yet mark : as fade the upper skies, 
bach Lhicket opes ten thousand eyes. 
Before, beside us, and above, 
The fire-flv lights his lamp of love, 
Retreating, chasing, sinking, soaring, 
The darkness of the copse exploring ; 
While to this cooler air confessed, 
The broad Dhatura baies her breast, 
Of fragrant scent, and virgin white,, 
A pearl around the lock? of night; 
Still as we pass, in softened hum, 
Along the breezy valleys come 
The village song, the horn, the drum. 
Still as we pass, from bush and briar, 
The shrill cigala strikes his lyre ; 
And what is she, whose liquid strain 
Thrills through yon copse of sugar-cane : 
I know that soul-entrancing swell ! 
It is, — it must be, — Philomel! 

Enough, enough, the rustling trees 
Announce a shower upon the breeze, — 
The flashes of the summer sky 
Assume a deeper, ruddier dye ; 
Yon lamp that trembles on the stream, 
From forth our cabin sheds its beam ; 


And we must early sleep to find 
Betimes the morning's healthy wind. 
But O, with thankful hearts confess, 
E'en here there may be happiness ; 
And He, the bounteous Sire, has given 
His peace on earth, his hope of heaven! 



If thou wert by my side, my love, 
How fast would evening fail 

In green Bengala's palmy grove, 
Listening the nightingale. 

If thou, my love, wert by my side, 

My babies at my knee, 
How gayly would our pinnace glide 

O'er Gunga's mimic sea. 

I miss thee at the dawning gray, 
When, on our deck reclined, 

In careless ease my limbs I lay, 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide, 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam, 

I miss thee from my side. 


I spread my book?, my pencil try, 

The lingering noon to cheer, 
But miss ihy kind approving eye, 

Thy meek attentive ear. 

But when of morn and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far, 

Thy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on — then on ; where duty leads, 

My course be onward still, 
On broad Hindostan's sultry meads, 

O'er black Almorah's hill. 

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates, 

Nor mild Malwah detain, 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits, 

By yonder western main. 

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, 

Across the dark blue sea, 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay. 

As then shall meet in thee. 


One morning in the month of May 

I wandered o'er the hill ; 
Though nature all around was gay, 

My heart was heavy still. 

Can God, I thought, the just, the great 
These meaner creatures bless, 

And yet deny to man's estate 
The boon of happiness ? 

Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains, 

Ye blessed birds around, 
In which of nature's wide domains 

Can bliss for man be found. 

The birds wild carolled over head, 
The breeze around me blew, 

And nature's awful chorus said — 
No bliss for man she knew. 


I questioned love, whose early ray, 

So rosy bright appears, 
And heard the timid genius say 

His light was dimmed by tears. 

I questioned friendship : Friendship sighed, 
And thus her answer gave — 

The few whom fortune never turned 
Were withered in the grave. 

I asked if vice could bliss bestow ? 

Vice boasted loud and well, 
But fading from her withered brow, 

The borrowed roses fell. 

I sought of feeling, if her skill 

Could soothe the wounded breast; 

And found her mourning, faint and still, 
For others' woes distressed. 

I questioned virtue ; virtue sighed, 
No boon could she dispense — 

Nor virtue was her name, she cried, 
But humble penitence. 

I questioned death — the grisly shade 

Relaxed his brow severe — 
And * I am happiness,' he said, 

* If Virtue guides thee here.' 


I see them on their winding way, 
About their ranks the moonbeams play ; 
Their lofty deeds and daring high 
Blend with the notes of victory. 
And waving arms, and banners brio-nt, 
Are glancing in the mellow light : 
They.'re lost, and gone ; the moon is past, 
The wood's dark shade is o'er them cast ; 
And fainter, fainter, fainter still 
The march is rising o'er the hill. 

Again, again the pealing drum, 

The clashing horn — they come, they come : 

Through rocky pass, o'er wooded steep, 

In long and glittering files they sweep. 

And nearer, nearer, yet more near, 

Their softened chorus meets the ear ; 

Forth, forth, and meet them on their way ; 

The trampling hoofs brook no delay ; 

With thrilling fife and pealing drum, 

And clashing horn, they come, they come. 


Reflected on the lake I love 
To see the stars of evening glow,. 

So tranquil in the heavens above, 
So restless in the wave below. 

Thus heavenly hope is all serene, 
But earthly hope, how bright soe'er, 

Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene 
As false and fleeting as 'tis fair. 


When" eyes are beaming 

What never tongue might tell; 

When tears are streaming 
From their crystal cell ; 

When hands are linked that dread to part, 

And heart is met by throbbing heart, 

0, bitter, bitter is the smart 
Of them that bid farewell. 

When hope is chidden 

That fain of bliss would tell, 
And love forbidden 

In the breast to dwell ; 
When fettered by a viewless chain, 
We turn and gaze, and turn again, 
0, death were mercy to the pain 

Of them that bid farewell. 


God, that ruadest Earth and Heaven. 

Darkness and light, 
Who the day for toil hast given. 

For rest the night, 
May thine angel guards defend us, 
Slumber sweet thy mercy send us. 
Holy dreams and hopes attend u 

This livelong night. 


Hill, whose high daring with renewed success 
Hatli cheered our tardy war, what time the 

Of expectation, dark and comfortless, 
Hung on the mountains ; and yon factious crowd 
Blasphemed their country's valor, babbling loud; 
Then was thine arm revealed, to whose young 

Bv Toulon's leacruered wall, the fiercest bowed: 
Whom Egypt honored, and the dubious fight 
Of Sad Corunna's winter, and more bright 
Douro, and Talavera's gory bays ; 
Wise, modest, brave, in danger foremost found. 
still,young warrior, may thy toil-earned praise, 
With England's love, and England's honor 

Gild with delight thy father's latter days. 


Ambition's voice was in my ear, she whisp 

1 How iioodiy is the land of Room, how \ 

the Russian sway. 
How blest to conquer either realm, and d 

through life to come, 
Lulled by the harp's melodious string, che 

by the northern drum.' 
But wisdom heard ; ' O youth,' she said, 

passion's fetter tied, 
come and see a sight with me shall cure I 

of thy pride.' 
She led me to a lonely dell, a sad and si 

Where many an ancient sepulchre gleame 

the moonshine round. 

And ' here Secunder sleeps,' she cried ; — c 
is his rival's stone ; 

And here the mighty chief reclines who re; 

the Median throne. 


Inquire of these, doth aught of all their nncient 

pomp remain, 
Save late regret, and bitter tears forever, and in 

vain ? 
Return, return, and in thy heart engraven keep 

my lore ; 
The lesser wealth, the lighter load, — small blame 

beti.les the poor.' 







Matt. xxi. 

HosannA to the living Lord ; 
Hosanna to the incarnate Word : 
To Christ, Creator, Saviour, King, 
Let earth, let heaven, Hosanna sing; 

Hosanna, Lord, Hosanna in the highest. 

Hosanna, Lord, thine angels cry ; 
Hosanna, Lord, thy saints reply ; 
Above, beneath us, and around, 
The dead and living swell the sound ; 

Hosanna, Lord, Hosanna in the highest. 

0, Saviour, with protecting care, 
Return to this thy house of prayer, 
Assembled in thy sacred name, 
Where we thy parting promise claim. 

Hosanna, Lord, Hosanna in the highest. 



But, chiefest, in our cleansed breast, 
Eternal, bid thy spirit rest, 
And make our secret soul to be 
A temple pure, and worthy thee. 

Hosanna, Lord, Hosanna in the highest. 

So in the last and dreadful day, 
When earth and heaven shall melt away, 
Thy flock, redeemed from sinful stain, 
Shall swell the sound of praise again, 

Hosanna, Lord, Hosanna in the highest. 



John i. 

The Lord will come, the earth shall quake, 
The hills their fixed seat forsake ; 
And, withering, from the vault of night 
The stars withdraw their feeble light. 

The Lord will come, but not the same 

As once in lowly form he came, 

A 6ilent lamb to slaughter led, 

The bruised, the suffering, and the dead. 

The Lord will come, a dreadful form, 
With wreath of flame, and robe of storm, 
On cherub wings, and wings of wind, 
Anointed Judge of human-kind. 

Can this be He who wont to stray 

,A pilgrim on the world's highway ; 

By power oppressed and mocked by pride ? 

God, is this the crucified ? 

Go, tyrants, to the rocks complain, 
Go, seek the mountain's cleft in vain ; 
But faith, victorious o'er the tomb, 
Shall sing for joy — the Lord is come. 



Luke xxi. 

In the sun and moon and stars 
Signs and wonders there shall be ; 

Earth shall quake with inward wars, 
Nations with perplexity. 

Soon shall ocean's hoary deep, 

Tossed with stronger tempests, rise; 

Darker storms the mountain sweep, 
Redder lightning rend the skies. 

Evil thoughts shall shake the proud, 
Racking doubt and restless fear ; 

And amid the thunder cloud 
Shall the Judge of men appear. 

But though from that awful face 

Heaven shall fade and earth shall fly, 

Fear not ye, his chosen race, 
Your redemption drawelh nigh. 



Matt. xi. 
0, Saviour, is thy promise fled ? 

No longer might thy grace endure, 
To heal the sick and raise the dead, 

And preach thy gospel to the poor ? 

Come, Jesus, come, return again ; 

With brighter beam thy servants bless, 
Who long to feel thy perfect reign, 

And share thy kingdom's happiness. 

\ feeble race, by passion driven, 
In dirkness and in doubt we roam, 

And lift our anxious eyes to heaven, 
Our hope, our harbor, and our home. 

¥et, 'mid^he wild and wintry gale, 
When death rides darkly o'er the sea, 

\nd strength and earthly daring fail, 
Our prayers, Redeemer, rest on thee. 

Dome, Jesus, come, and, as of yore 
The prophet went to clear thy way, 

\ harbinger thy feet before, 
A dawning to thy brighter day : 

So now may grace with heavenly shower 
Our stony hearts for truth prepare; 

Sow in our souls the seed of power, 
Then come and reap thy harvest there. 



The world is grown old, and her pleasures a 

The world is grown old, and her form may n 

last ; 
The world is grown old, and trembles for fear 
For sorrows abound and judgment is near. 

The sun in the heaven is languid and pale ; 
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale ; 
And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear 
For the world is grown old, and judgment 

The king on his throne, the bride in her bowei 
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour; 
The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer, 
For the world is grown old,and judgment is nea 

The world is grown old, — but should we con 

Who have tried her and know that her promii 

is vain ? 
Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here, 
And we look for our crown when judgment 




O, Saviour, whom this holy morn 

Gave to our world below, 
To mortal want and labor born, 

And more than mortal wo ; 

Incarnate Word, by every grief, 

By each temptation tiled, 
Who lives to yield our ills relief, 

And to redeem us died ; 

If gaily clothed and proudly fed, 
In dangerous wealth we dwell, 

Remind us of thy manger bed, 
And lowly cottage cell. 

If pressed by poverty severe, 

In envious want we pine, 
O may thy spirit whisper near, 

How poor a lot was thine. 

Through fickle fortune's various scene 

From sin preserve us free; 
Like us thou hast a mourner been, 

May we rejoice with thee. 


st Stephen's day, 

The Son of God goes forth to war, 

A kingly crown to gain ; 
His blood-red banner streams afar; 

Who follows in his train ? 
Who best can drink his cup of wo, 

Triumphant over pain, 
Who patient bears his cross below, 

He follows in his train. 

The martyr first, whose eagle eye 

Could pierce beyond the grave; 
Who saw his Master in the sky, 

And called on him to save. 
Like Him, with pardon on his tongue 

In midst of mortal pain. 
He prayed for them that did the wrong. 

Who follows in his train ? 

A glorious band, the chosen few, 

On whom the spirit came; 
Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew, 

And mocked the cross and flame. 


They met the tyrant's brandished steel, 

The lion's gory mane : 
They bowed their necks the death to feel. 

Who follows in their train ? 

A noble army — men and boys, 

The matron and the maid, 
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice, 

In robes of light arrayed. 
They climbed the steep ascent of Heaven, 

Through peril, toil, and pain. 
God, to us may grace be given 

To follow in their train. 




God, who gav'st thy servant grace, 
Amid the storms of life distressed, 

To look on thine incarnate face, 
And lean on thy protecting breast : 

To see the light that dimly shone, 
Eclipsed for us in sorrow pale, 

Pure Image of the Eternal One, 

Through shadows of thy mortal veil. 

Be ours, O King of mercy, still 
To feel thy presence from above, 

And in thy word, and in thy will, 

To hear thy voice and know thy love : 

And when the toils of life are done, 
And nature waits thy dread decree, 

To find our rest beneath thy throne, 
And look, in humble hope, to Thee. 


innocent's day. 

O weep not o'er thy children's tomb, 

Rachel, weep not so : 
The bud is cropt by martyrdom, 

The flower in heaven shall blow. 

Firstlings of faith, the murderer's knife 

Has missed its deadliest aim : 
The God for whom they gave their life, 

For them to suffer came. 

Though feeble were their days and few, 

Baptized in blood and pain, 
He knows them, whom they never knew, 

And they shall live again. 

Then weep not o'er thy children's torn b, 

Rachel, weep not so : 
The bud is cropt by martyrdom, 

The flower in heaven shall blow. 



Lord of mercy and of might, 
Of mankind the life and light, 
Maker, teacher infinite, 

Jesus, hear and save. 

Who, when sin's tremendous doom 
Gave Creation to the tomb, 
Didst not scorn the Virgin's womb, 
Jesus, hear and save. 

Mighty monarch, Saviour mild, 
Humbled to a mortal child, 
Captive, beaten, bound, reviled, 
Jesus, hear and save. 

Throned above celestial things, 
Borne aloft on angel's wi ngs, 
Lord of lords, and King of kings, 
Jesus, hear and save. 

Who shalt yet return from high, 
Robed in might and majesty, 
Hear us, help us when we cry, 
Jesus, hear and save. 



Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, 
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid. 

Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. 

Cold on his cradle the dew drops are shining, 
Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall, 

Angels adore him in slumber reclining, 
Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all. 

Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion, 
Odors of Edom and offerings divine ? 

Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean, 
Myrrh from (he forest or gold from the mine '• 

Vainly we offer each ampler oblation ; 

Vainly with gifts would his favor secure: 
Richer by far is the heart's adoration ; 

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. 

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, 
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid. 

Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. 



Luke ii. 

Abashed be all the boast of age, 

Be hoary learning dumb, 
Expounder of the mystic page, 

Behold an infant come. 

O Wisdom, whose unfading power 
Beside the Eternal stood, 

To frame, in nature's earliest hour, 
The land, the sky, the flood ; 

Yet didst not Thou disdain awhile 

An infant form to wear ; 
To bless thy mother with a smile, 

And lisp thy faltered prayer. 

But, in thy Father's own abode, 
With Israel's elders round, 

Conversing high with Israel's God, 
Thy chiefest joy was found. 

So may our youth adore thy name, 
And, Saviour, deign to bless 

With fostering grace the timid flame 
Of early holiness. 



By cool Siloam's shady rill 

How sweet the lily grows, 
How sweet the breath beneath the hill 

Of Sharon's dewy rose. 

Lo, such the child whose early feet 
The paths of peace have trod ; 

Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, 
Is upward drawn to God. 

By cool Siloam's shady rill 

The lily must decay ; 
The rose that blooms beneath the hill 

Must shortly fade away. 

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour 

Of man's maturer age, 
Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, 

And stormy passion's rage. 

Thou, whose infant feet were found 

Within thy Father's shrine, 
Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned 

Were all alike divine, 

Dependent on thy bounteous breath, 

We seek thy grace alone, 
In childhood, manhood, age and death, 

To keep us still thine own. 



O, hand of bounty, largely spread, 
By whom our every want is fed, 
Whate'er we touch, or taste, or see, 
We owe them all, O Lord, to thee ; 
The corn, the oil, the purple wine, 
Are all thy gifts, and only thine. 

The stream thy word to nectar dyed, 
The bread thy blessing multiplied, 
The stormy wind, the whelming flood, 
That silent at thy mandate stood, 
How well they knew thy voice divine, 
Whose works they were, and only thine. 

Though now no more on earth we trace 
Thy footsteps of celestial grace, 
Obedient to thy word and will 
We seek thy daily mercy still 5 
Its blessed beams around us shine, , 
And thine we are, and only thine. 



Incarnate Word, who, wont to dwell 
In lowly shape and cottage cell, 
Didst not refuse a guest to be 
At Cana's poor festivity : 

0, when our soul from care is free, 
Then, Saviour, may we think on Thee, 
And seated at the festal board, 
In Fancy's eye behold the Lord. 

Then may we seem, in Fancy's ear, 
Thy manna-dropping tongue to hear, 
And think, — even now, thy searching gaze 
Each secret of our soul surveys ! 

So may such joy, chastised and pure, 
Beyond the bounds of earth endure ; 
Nor pleasure in the wounded mind 
Shall leave a rankling sting behind. 



When on her Maker's bosom 
The new-born earth was laid, 

And nature's opening blossom 
Its fairest bloom displayed ; 

When all with fruit and flowers 
The laughing soil was dressed, 

And Eden's fragrant bowers 
Received their human guest; 

No sin his face defiling, 
The heir of Nature stood, 

And God, benignly smiling, 
Beheld that all was good. 

Yet in that hour of blessing, 
A single want was known ; 

A wish the heart distressing; 
For Adam was alone. 

0, God of pure affection, 
By men and saints adored, 

Who gavest thy protection 
To Cana's nuptial board, 

May such thy bounties ever 
To wedded love be shown, 

And no rude hand dissever 
Whom thou hast linked in one. 



Matt. viii. 

Lord, whose love, in power excelling, 
Washed the leper's stain away 9 

Jesus, from thy heavenly dwelling, 
Hear us, help us, when we pray. 

From the filth of vice and folly, 
From infuriate passion's rage, 

Evil thoughts and hopes unholy, 
Heedless youth and selfish age ; 

From the lusts whose deep pollutions 
Adam's ancient taint disclose, 

From the tempter's dark intrusions, 
Restless doubt and blind repose ; 

From the miser's cursed treasure, 

From the drunkard's jest obscene, 
From the world, its pomp and pleasure, 
Jesus, Ma-ter, make us clean. 



When through the torn sail the wild tempest 

When o'er the dark wave the red lightning 

Nor hope lends a ray the poor seamen to cheri 
We fly to our Maker — ' Help, Lord, or \ 

perish. 5 

O, Jesus, once tossed on the breast of the billo 
Aroused by the shriek of despair from thy pillo 
Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish, 
Who cries in his danger — ' Help, Lord, or < 
perish. 5 

And 0, when the whirlwind of passion is ragii 
When hell in our heart his wild warfare is wagii 
Arise in thy strength thy redeemed to cherish. 
Rebuke the destroyer — * Help, Lord, or < 
perish. 5 



The God of Glory walks his round, 
From day to day, from year to year, 
And warns us each with awful sound, 

* No longer stand ye idle here. 

4 Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright," 
Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are 

Waste not of hope the morning light, 
Ah, fools, why stand ye idle here? 

* 0, as the griefs ye would assuage 
That wait on life's declining year, 
Secure a blessing for your age, 

And work your Maker's business here. 

' And ye, whose locks of scanty gray 
Foretell your latest travail near, 
How swiftly fades your worthless day, 
And stand ye yet so idle here ? 

* One hour remains, there is but one, 
But many a shriek and many a tear 
Through endless years the guilt must moan 
Of moments lost and wasted here.' 

O Thou, by all thy works adored, 
To whom the sinner's soul is dear, 
Recall us to thy vineyard, Lord, 
And grant us grace to please thee here. 



O God, by whom the seed is given ; 

By whom the harvest blessed ; 

Whose word like manna showered from heaven 

Is planted in our breast ; 

Preserve it from the passing feet, 
And plunderers of the air ; 
The sultry sun's intenser heat, 
And weeds of worldly care ; 

Though buried deep or thinly strown, 
Do thou thy grace supply ; 
The hope in earthly furrows sown 
Shall ripen in the sky. 



ViRGiN-born, we bow before thee ; 
Blessed was the womb that bore thee : 
Mary, mother meek and mild, 
Blessed was she in her child. 

Blessed was the breast that fed thee, 
Blessed was the hand that led thee, 
Blessed was the parent's eye 
That watched thy slumbering infancy. 

Blessed she by all creation, 
Who brought forth the world's salvation, 
And blessed they, for ever blessed, 
Who love thee most and serve thee best. 

Virgin-born, we bow before thee ; 
Blessed was the womb that bore thee ; 
Mary, mother meek and mild, 
Blessed was she in her child. 



O, King of earth and air and sea, 
The hungry ravens cry to thee ; 
To thee the scaly tribes that sweep 
The bosom of the boundless deep; 

o thee the lions roaring call, 
The common Father, kind to all; 
Then grant thy servants, Lord, we pray. 
Our daily bread from day to day. 

The fishes may for food' complain ; 
The ravens spread their wings in vain ; 
The roaring lions lack and pine ; 
But, God ! thou carest still for thine. 

Thy bounteous hand with food can bless 
The bleak and lonely wilderness; 
And thou hast taught us, Lord, to pray 
For daily bread from day to day. 

And 0, when through the wilds we roam 
That part us from our heavenly home ; 
When lost in danger, want, and wo, 
Our faithless tears begin to flow; 

Do thou thy gracious comfort give, 
By w T hich alone the soul may live ; 
And grant thy servants, Lord, we pray, 
The bread of life from day to day. 



Thou, whom neither time nor space 
Can circle in, unseen, unknown, 

Nor faith in boldest flight can trace, 
Save through thy Spirit and thy Son ; 

And Thou, that from thy bright abode, 
To us in mortal weakness shown, 

Didst graft the manhood into God, 
Eternal, co-eternal Son ; 

And Thou, whose unction from on high 
By comfort, light, and love is known, 

Who, with the parent Deity, 
Dread Spirit, art for ever one ! 

Great First and Last, thy blessing give, 
And grant us faith, thy gift alone, 

To love and praise thee while we live, 
And do whate'er thou wouldst have done. 



The Lord of might, from Sinai's brow, 
Gave forth his voice of thunder ; 

And Israel lay on earth below, 
Outstretched in fear and wonder. 

Beneath his feet was pitchy night, 

And, at his left hand, and his right, 
The rocks were rent asunder. 

The Lord of love, on Calvary, 
A meek and suffering stranger, 

Upraised to heaven his languid eye. 
In nature's hour of danger. 

For us he bore the weight of wo, 

For us he gave his blood to flow, 
And met his Father's anger. 

The Lord of love, the Lord of might, 

The king of all created, 
Shall back return to claim his right, 

On clouds of glory seated ; 
With trumpet-sound and angel-song, 
And hallelujahs loud and long 

O'er Death and Hell defeated. 



inore than merciful ! whose bounty gave 
Thy guiltless self to glut the greedy grave, 
Whose heart was rent to pay thy people's price. 
The great High-priest at once and sacrifice ; 
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain, 
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain. 

When sin with flowery garland hides her dart, 
When tyrant force would daunt the sinking heart. 
When fleshly lust assails, or worldly care, 
Or the soul flutters in the fowler's snare, — 
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain, 
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain. 

And, chiefest then, when nature yields the strife, 
And mortal darkness wraps the gate of life, 
When the poor spirit, from the tomb set free, 
Sinks at thy feet and lifts its hopes to thee — 
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson- stain, 
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain. 



God is gone up with a merry noise 

Of saints that sing on high : 
With his own right hand and his holy arm 

He hath won the victory. 

Now empty are the courts of death, 
And crushed thy sting, despair : 

And roses bloom in the desert tomb, 
For Jesus hath been there. \ 

And he hath tamed the strength of hell, 
And dragged him through the sky, 

And captive behind his chariot wheel, 
He hath bound captivity. 

God is gone up with a merry noise 

Of saints that sing on high ; 
With his own right hand and his holy arm 

He hath won the victory. 



Life nor Death shall us dissever 
From his love who reigns for ever. 
Will he fail us ? Never, never, 
When to him we cry. 

Sin may seek to snare us, 
Fiery passion tear us, 
Doubt and fear and grim despair, 
Their fangs against us try : 

But his might shall still defend us, 
And his blessed Son befriend us, 
And his Holy Spirit send us 
Comfort ere we die. 



c Sit thou on my right hand, ray Son !' saith 

the Lord. 
1 Sit thou on my right hand, my Son, 

Till in the fatal hour 

Of my wrath, and my power, 
Thy foes shall be a footstool to thy throne. 

* Prayer shall be made to thee, my Son,' saitli 

the Lord. 

* Prayer shall be made to thee, my Son, 

From earth and air and sea, 
And all that in them be, 
Which thou for thine heritage hast won.' 

* Daily be thou praised, my Son,' saith the Lord. 
' Daily be thou praised, my Son. 

And all that live and move, 
Let them bless thy bleeding love, 
And the work which thy worthiness hath done. : 



Spirit of Truth, on this thv dav 

To thee for help we cry ; 
To guide us through the dreary way 

Of dark mortality. 

We ask not, Lord, thy cloven flame. 

Or tongues of various tone ; 
But long thy praises to proclaim 

With fervor in our own. 

We mourn not that prophetic skill 

Is found on earth no more ; 
Enough for us to ti ace thy will 

In Scripture's sacred lore. 

We neither have nor seek the power 

111 demons to control ; 
But thou in dark temptation's hour, 

Shalt chase them from the soul. 

No heavenly harpings soothe our ear, 

No mystic dreams we share ; 
Yet hope to feel thy comfort near, 

And bless thee in our prayer. 

When tongues shall cease and power decay : 

And knowledge empty prove, 
Do thou thy trembling servants stay 
With faith, with hope, with love. 



Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, 

Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee ; 

Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty I 
God in three persons, blessed Trinity. 

Holy, holy, holy, all the saints adore thee, 
Casting down their golden crowns around the- 
glassy sea - y 

Cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee* 
Which wert and art and evermore shalt be. 

Holy, holy, holy, though the darkness hide thee,. 

Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may 
not see, 
Only thou art holy, there is none beside thee, 

Perfect in power, in love, and purity. 

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, 
All thy works shall praise thy name in earth and 
sky and sea. 

Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty, 
God in three persons, blessed Trinity. 



Room for the proud ! Ye sons of clay. 
From far his sweeping pomp survey, 
Nor, rashly curious, clog the way 
His chariot wheels before. 

Lo, with what scorn his lofty eye 
Glances o'er age and poverty, 
And bids intruding conscience fly 
Far from his palace door. 

Room for the proud ! but slow the feet 
That bear his coffin down the street : 
And dismal seems his winding-sheet 
Who purple lately wore. 

Ah, where must now his spirit fly 
In naked, trembling agony ? 
Or how shall he for mercy cry, 
Who showed it not before. 

Room for the proud ! in ghastly state 
The lords of hell his coming wait, 
And flinging wide the dreadful gate. 
That shuts to ope no more, 

* Lo here with us the seat,' they cry, 
■ For him who mocked at poverty, 
And bade intruding conscience fly 
Far from his palace door.' 




The feeble pulse, the gasping breath, 
The clenched teeth, the glazed eye, 

Are these thy sting, thou dreadful Death r 
O Grave, are these thy victory ? 

The mourners by our parting bed, 
The wife, the children weeping nigh, 

The dismal pageant of the dead, — 
These, these are not thy victory. 

But, from the much-loved world to part, 

Our lust untamed, our spirit high, 
All nature struggling at the heart, 
Which dying, feels it dare not die. 

To dream through life a gaudy dream 
Of pride and pomp and luxury, 

Till wakened by the nearer gleam 
Of burning, boundless agony ; 

To meet o'er soon our angry King, 
Whose love we passed unheeded by ; 

Lo this, O Death, thy deadliest sting, 
Grave, and this thy victory. 

Searcher of the secret heart, 
Who deigned for sinful man to die, 

Restore us ere the spirit part, 
Nor give to hell the victory. 



Forth from the dark and stormy sky, 
Lord, to thine altar's shade we fly; 
Forth from the world, its hope and fear, 
Saviour, we seek thy shelter here : 
Weary and weak, thy grace we pray ; 
Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away. 

Long have we roamed in want and pain, 
Long have we sought thy rest in vain ; 
Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost, 
Long have our souls been tempest-tost : 
Low at thy feet our sins we lay ; 
Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away. 



There was joy in heaven, 
There was joy in heaven, 
When this goodly world to frame 
The Lord of might and mercy came : 
Shouts of joy were heard on high, 
And the stars sang from the sky, 
' Glory to God in heaven.' 

There was joy in heaven, 
There was joy in heaven, 
When the billows, heaving dark, 
Sank around the stranded ark, 
And the rainbow's watery span 
Spake of mercy, hope to man, 
And peace with God in Heaven. 

There was joy in heaven, 
There was joy in heaven, 
When of love the midnight beam 
Dawned on the towers of Bethlehem ; 
And along the echoing hill 
Angels sang — ■ On earth good will, 
And glory in the Heaven.' 


There is joy in heaven. 
There is joy in heaven, 
When the sheep that went astray 
Tunis again to virtue's way ; 
When the soul by grace subdued. 
Sobs its prayer of gratitude, 
Then is there joy in Heaven. 



I praised the earth, in beauty seen 
With garlands gay of various green ; 
I praised the sea, whose ample field 
Shone glorious as a silver shield ; 
And earth and ocean seemed to say, 
' Our beauties are but for a day.' 

I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled 
On wheels of amber and of gold ; 
I praised the moon, whose softer eye 
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky : 
And moon and sun in answer said, 
c Our days of light are numbered.' 

O God, O good beyond compare, 

If thus thy meaner works are fair, 

If thus thy bounties gild the span 

Of ruined earth and sinful man, 

How glorious must the mansion be 

Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee. 



Creator of the rolling flood ! 

On whom thy people hope alone ; 
Who cam'st, by water and by blood, 

For man's offences to atone ; 

Who from the labors of the deep 

Didst set thy servant Peter free, 
To feed on earth thy chosen sheep, 
And build an endless church to thee ; 

Grant us, devoid of worldly care, 
And leaning on thy bounteous hand, 

To seek thy help in humble prayer, 
And on thy sacred rock to stand : 

And when, our livelong toil to crown, 

Thy call shall set the spirit free, 
To cast with joy our burthen down, 

And rise, Lord, and follow thee. 



When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the 

laughing soil ; 
When summer's balmy showers refresh the 

mower's toil ; 
When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow 

and the flood, 
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his 

Maker good. 

The birds that wake the morning, and those that 
love the shade ; 

The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the 
drowsy glade; 

The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on 
his way, 

The moon and stars, their Master's name in si- 
lent pomp display. 

Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the 

Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise 

deny ? 
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons 

cease to be, 
Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Sa» 

viour, honor thee. 


The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of 

summer fade, 
The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake 

the shade ; 
The winds be lulled— the sun and moon forget 

their old decree, 
3ut we in nature's latest hour, O Lord, will cling 

to thee. 



Jerusalem, Jerusalem! enthroned once onhig 
Thou favored home of God on earth, thou heav< 

below the sky, 
Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a cur 

and grief to see, 
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, our tears shall flow fc 


O, hadst thou known thy day of grace, an 

flocked beneath the wing 
Of him who called thee lovingly, thine own ai 

ointed King, 
Then had the tribes of all the world gone up th> 

pomp to see, 
And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all th; 

sons been free. 

« And who art thou that mournest me ?' repliei 

the ruin gray, 
1 And fcar'st not rather that thyself may prov< 

a castaway ? 
I am a dried and abject branch, my place is give] 

to thee ; 
But wo to every barren graft of thy wild olive 


I 123 

)ur day of grace is sunk in night, our time of 

mercy spent, 
'oriheavy was my children's crime, and strange 
their punishment ; 
i et gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned 

iTho spared not his chosen seed may send his 
wrath on thee. 

Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is 
in its prime ; 

), turn and seek thy Saviour's face in this ac- 
cepted time. 

to,Gentile, may Jerusalem a lesson prove to thee. 

Vnd in the new Jerusalem thy home for ever be.' 




i Who yonder on the desert heath, 
Complains in feeble tone :' 
— ' A pilgrim in the vale of death, 
Faint, bleeding and alone.' 

* How cam'st thou to this dismal strand 

Of danger, grief, and shame ?' 
— * From blessed S ion's holy land, 
By folly led, I came.' 

* What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare ? 

Whose fury laid thee low?' 
— ' Sin for my footsteps twined her snare, 
And death has dealt the blow.' 

' Can art no medicine for thy wound, 

Nor nature strength supply ?' 
— * They saw me bleeding on the ground, 
And passed in silence by. ' 

4 But, sufferer, is no comfort near 
Thy terrors to remove ?' 
— * There is to whom my soul was dear, 
But I have scorned his love.' 

I 125 

1 What if his hand were nigh to save 
From endless death thy days ?' 

— * The soul he ransomed from the grave 
Should live but to his praise.' 

'Rise then, O rise, his health embrace, 
With heavenly strength renewed ; 

And such as is thy Saviour's grace, 
Such be thy gratitude.' 



Lo, the lilies of the field, 

How their leaves instruction yield ! 

Hark to nature's lesson given 

By the blessed birds of Heaven. 

Everv bush and tufted tree 

Warbles sweet philosophy ; 

* Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow : 

God provideth for the morrow. 

' Say, with richer crimson glows 
The kingly mantle than the rose r 
Say, have kings more wholesome fare 
Than we poor citizens of air ? 
Barns nor hoarded grain have we, 
Yet we carol merrily. 
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, 
God provideth for the morrow. 

' One there lives whose guardian eye 
Guides our humble destiny : 
One there lives, who Lord of all, 
Keeps our feathers lest they fall : 
Pass we blithely, then, the time, 
Fearless of the snare and lime, 
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow ; 
God provideth for the morrow.' 




ake not, O mother, sounds of lamentation ; 
Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly : 
rong is his arm, the bringer of salvation, 
Strong is the word of God to succor thee. 

;ar forth the cold corpse slowly, slowly bear him : 
Hide his pale features with the sable pall : 
ride not the sad one wildly weeping near him : 
Widowed and childless, she has lost her all. 

by pause the mourners? Who forbids our 

weeping ? 
Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed ? 
letdown the bier — he is not dead, but sleeping. 
'Young man, arise!' — He spake, and was 
lange, then, O sad one, grief to exultation, 

Worship and fall before Messiah's knee, 
rong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, 
Strong was the word of God to succor thee. 



O blest were the accents of early creation, 
When the Word of Jehovah came down f 
above : 

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation, 
And wake their cold atoms to life and to 1( 

And mighty the tones which the firman" 
When on wheels of the thunder, and wingi 
the wind, 
By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness 
He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind. 

And sweet was the voice of the First-born 
(Though poor his apparel, though earthly 
Who said to the mourner, ' Thy sins are 1 
• Be whole,' to the sick,— and ■ Be still,' to 
the storm. 


0, Judge of the world, when arrayed in thy glory, 
Thy summons again shall be heard from on high, 

While nature stands trembling and naked before 
And waits on thy sentence to live or to die ; 

When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound 
of thy thunder, 
And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid 
and pale, 
And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave 
In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail. 



The sound of war ! In earth and air 

The volleying thunders roll : 
Their fiery darts the fiends prepare, 
And dig the pit, and spread the snare, 

Against the Christian's soul. 
The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame. 

The scorner's serpent tone, 
Of bitter doubt the barbed aim, 
All, all conspire his heart to tame : 
Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail 
The rivets ofhis heavenly mail, 

Amidst his foes alone. 

Gods of the world, ye warrior host 

Of darkness and of air, 
In vain is all your impious boast, 
In vain each missile lightning tost, 

In vain the tempter's snare. 
Though fast and far your arrows fly, 

Though mortal nerve and bone 
Shrink in convulsive agony, 
The Christian can your rage defy; 
Towers o'er his head salvation's crest, 
Faith like a buckler, guards his breast, 

Undaunted, though alone. 


'T is past, 't is o'er ! in foul defeat 

The demon host are fled, 
Before the Saviour's mercy-seat, 
(His live-long work of faith complete,) 

Their conqueror bends his head. 

* The spoils thyself hast gained, Lord : 

I lay before thy throne : 
Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword ; 
My trust was in thy name and word : 
'T was in thy strength my heart was strong ; 
Thy spirit went with mine along ; 

How was I then alone ?' 





God, my sins are manifold, against my lif 

they cry, 
And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy tern 

fly ; 

Wilt thou release my tremhling soul, that to d 
pair is driven ? 

1 Forgive !' a blessed voice replied, ' and th 

shalt be forgiven.' 

My foemen, Lord, are fierce and fell, they spi 

me in their pride, 
They render evil for my good, my patience th 

deride ; 
Arise, King, and be the proud to rightec 

ruin driven. 
'Forgive!' an awful answer came, * as th 

would'st be forgiven.' 

Seven times, Lord, I pardoned them, sev 

times they sinned again : 
They practise still to work me wo, they triuns 

in my pain ; 
But let them dread my vengeance now, to just 

sentment driven. 
'Forgive !' the voice of thunder spake, ■ or ne 

be forgiven.' 




From foes that would the land devour ; 
From guilty pride, and lust of power ; 
From wild sedition's lawless hour; 

From yoke of slavery ; 
From blinded zeal by faction led ; 
From giddy change by fancy bred ; 
From poisonous error's serpent head, 

Good Lord, preserve us free. 

Defend, God, with guardian hand, 

The laws and ruler of our land, 

And grant our church thy grace to stand 

In faith and unity ; 
The spirit's help of thee we crave, 
That thou, whose blood was shed to save, 
Mayest, at thy second coming, have 

A flock to welcome thee. 




To conquer and to save, the Son of God 
Came to his own in great humility, 
Who wont to ride on cherub wings abroad, 
And round him wrap the mantle of the sky. 
The mountains bent their necks to form his road ; 
The clouds dropt down their fatness irom on high ; 
Beneath his feet the wild waves softly flowed, 
And the winds kissed his garment tremblingly. 

The grave unbolted half his grisly door, 
(For darkness and the deep had heard his fame, 
Nor longer might their ancient rule endure ;) 
The mightiest of mankind stood hushed and tame ; 
And, trooping on strong wing, his angels came 
To work his will, and kingdom to secure ; 
No strength he needed save his father's name .; 
Babes were his heralds, and his friends the poor. 



Though sorrows rise and dangers roll 
In waves of darkness o'er my soul, 
Though friends are false and love decays, 
And few and evil are my days. 
Though conscience, fiercest of my foes, 
Swells with remembered guilt my woes, 
Yet even in nature's utmost ill, 
I love thee, Lord, I love thee still. 

Though Sinai's curse, in thunder dread, 
Peals o'er mine unprotected head, 
And memory points, with busy pain, 
To grace and mercy given in vain, 
Till nature, shrieking in the strife, 
Would fly to hell, to 'scape from life, 
Though every thought has power to kill, 
I love thee, Lord, I love thee still. 

O, by the pangs thyself hast borne, 
The ruffian's blow, the tyrant's scorn ; 
By Sinai's curse, whose dreadful doom 
Was buried in thy guiltless tomb: 
By these my pangs, whose healing smart 
Thy grace hath planted in my heart ; 
I know, I feel, thy bounteous will, 
Thou lov'st me, Lord, thou lov'st me still 



O, captain of God's host, whose dreadful might 
Led forth to war the armed Seraphim, 

And from the starry height, 

Subdued in burning fight, 
Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim. 

Thine angels, Christ, we laud in solemn lays, 
Our elder brethren of the crystal sky, 

Who, 'mid thy glory's blaze, 

The ceaseless anthem raise, 
And gird thy throne in faithful ministry. 

We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing 
Hath left for us so oft their mansion high, 

The mercies of their king, 

To mortal saints to bring, 
Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy. 

But thee, the first and last, we glorify, 
Who, when thy world was sunk in death and sin, 

Not with thine hierarchy, 

The armies of the sky, 
But didst with thine own arm the battle win ; 


Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore, 
Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone, 

All glorious in thy gore, 

Didst light and life restore, 
To us who lay in darkness and undone ; 

Therefore, with angels and archangels, we 
To thy dear love our thankful chorus raise, 

And tune our songs to thee 

Who art, and ought to be, 
And, endless as thy mercies, sound thy praise. 



O God, that madest earth and sky, the darkness 
and the day, 

Give ear to this thy family, and help us when we 

For wide the waves of bitterness around our ves- 
sel roar, 

And heavy grows the pilot's heart to view the 
rocky shore. 

The cross our master bore for us, for him we fain 
would bear, 

But mortal strength to weakness turns, and cour- 
age to despair. 

Then mercy on our failings, Lord, our sinking 
faith renew, 

And when thy sorrows visit us, send thy pa- 
tience too. . 


APRIL, 1820. 

From Greenland's icy mountains, 

From India's coral strand, 
Where Afric's sunny fountains 

Roll down their golden sand ; 
From many an ancient river, 

From many a palmy plain, 
They call us to deliver 

Their land from error's chain. 

What though the spicy breezes 

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle, 
Though every prospect pleases, 

And only man is vile : 
In vain with lavish kindness 

The gifts of God are strown, 
The heathen, in his blindness, 

Bows down to wood and stone. 


Can we, whose souls are lighted 

With wisdom from on high, 
Can we to men benighted 

The lamp of life deny ? 
Salvation, O salvation ! 

The joyful sound proclaim, 
Till each remotest nation 

Has learned Messiah's name. 

Waft, waft, ye winds, his story, 

And you, ye waters, roll, 
Till, like a sea of glory, 

It spreads from pole to pole ; 
Till o'er our ransomed nature, 

The Lamb for sinners slain, 
Redeemer, King, Creator, 

In bliss returns to reign. 



O most merciful ! 

most bountiful ! 

God the Father Almighty ! 

By the Redeemer's 

Sweet intercession 

Hear us, help us when we cry. 



Bread of the world, in mercy broken ; 

Wine of the soul, in mercy shed ; 
By whom the words of life were spoken, 

And in whose death our sins are dead ; 

Look on the heart by sorrow broken, 
Look en the tears by sinners shed, 

And be thy feast to us the token 
That by thy grace our souls are fed. 




Beneath our feet and o'er our head 

Is equal warning given ; 
Beneath us lie the countless dead, 

Above us is the heaven. 

Their names are graven on the stone.. 

Their bones are in the clay ; 
And ere another day is done, 

Ourselves may be as they. 

Death rides on every passing breeze, 

He lurks in every flower ; 
Each season has its own disease, 

Its peril every hour. 

Our eyes have seen the rosy light 
Of youth's soft cheek decay, 

And Fate descend in sudden night 
On manhood's middle day. 

Our eyes have seen the steps of age 
Halt feebly towards the tomb, 

And yet shall earth our hearts engage, 
And dreams of days to come ? 



Turn, mortal, turn ! thy danger know ; 

Where'er thy foot can tread 
The earth rings hollow from below, 

And warns thee of her dead. 

Turn, Christian, turn ! thy soul apply 
To truths divinely given ; 

The bones that underneath thee lie 
Shall live for hell or heaven. 

I 145 



Thou art gone to the grave ; but we will not 

deplore thee, 
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the 

tomb : 
Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before 

And the lamp of his love is thy guide through 

the gloom. 

Thou art gone to the grave ; we no longer be- 
hold thee, 

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy 

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold 

And sinners mav die, for the Sinless has died. 

Thou art gone to the grave ; and, its mansion 

Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long ; 

But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy 

And the sound which thou heard'st was the ser- 
aphim's song. 


Thou art gone to the grave ; but we will n< 

deplore thee, 
Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian at 

guide ; 

He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restor 

And death has nostinj-for the Saviour has die( 

* The following stanzas were written as 8 
addition to the above hymn, by an English cle 
gyman, on hearing of the decease of the autho 

Thou art gone to the grave ; and whole natioi 
bemoan thee, 
Who caught from thy lips the glad tidings ( 
peace : 
Yet grateful, they still in their hearts shall en 
throne thee, 
And ne'er shall thy name from their mem< 
ries cease. 

Thou art gone to the grave ; but thy work she 

not perish, 

That work which the spirit of wisdom hath bles 

His strength shall sustain it, his comforts sha 


And make it to prosper, though thou art at res 



0, Saviour of the faithful dead, 
With whom thy servants dwell, 

Though cold and green the turf is spread 
Above their narrow cell, — 

No more we cling to mortal clay, 

We doubt and fear no more, 
Nor shrink to tread the darksome way 

Which thou hast trod before. 

'T was hard from those I loved to go, 

W 7 ho knelt around my bed, 
Whose tears bedewed my burning brow, 

Whqse arms upheld my head. 

As fading from my dizzy view, 

I sought their forms in vain, 
The bitterness of death I knew, 

And groaned to live again. 

'T was dreadful, when th' accuser's power 

Assailed my sinking heart, 
Recounting every wasted hour, 

And each unworthy part : 


But, Jesus, in that mortal fray, 
Thy blessed comfort stole, 

Like sunshine in a stormy day, 
Across my darkened soul. 

When soon or late this feeble breath 
No more to thee shall pray, 

Support me through the vale of death, 
And in the darksome way. 

When clothed in fleshly weeds again 

I wait thy dread decree, 
Judge of the world, bethink thee then 

That thou hast died for me. 






Can earth, or fire, or liquid air, 

ith water's sacred stream compare ? 

in aught that wealthy tyrants hold 

irpass the lordly blaze of gold ? — 

1 lives there one, whose restless eye 

ould seek along the empty sky, 

;neath the sun's meridian ray, 

warmer star, a purer day ? 

thou, my soul, whose choral song 

ould tell of contests sharp and strong, 

stol not other lists above 

le circus of Olympian Jove ; 

hence borne on many a tuneful tongue, 

q Saturn's seed the anthem sung, 

ith harp, and flute and trumpet's call, 

ath sped to Hiero's festival. — 


Over sheep clad Sicily 

Who the righteous sceptre beareth. 
Every flower of virtue's tree 

Wove in various wreath he weareth, — | 
But the bud of poesy 

Is the fairest flower of all ; 
Which the hards, in social glee, 

Strow round Hiero's wealthy ball. — 
The harp on yonder pin suspended, 

Sieze it, boy, for Pisa's sake, 
And that good steed's, whose thought will wa 
A joy with anxious fondness blended : — 
No sounding lash his sleek side rended : 
By Alpheus' bride, with feet of flame, 
Self-driven to the goal he tended : 
And earned the olive wreath of fame 
For that dear lord, whose righteous name 
The sons of Syracusa tell : — 
Who loves the generous courser well : 

Beloved himself by all who dwell 
In Pelop's Lydian colony. — 
— Of earth-embracing Neptune, he 
The darling, when, in days of yore, 
All lovely from the caldron red 
By Clotho's spell delivered, 
The youth an ivory shoulder bore. — 


—Wei!, — these are tales of mystery ! — 

\nd many a darkly woven lie 

With men will easy credence gain ; 

While truth, calm truth, may speak in vain ; 

r or eloquence, whose honeyed sway 

Jur frailer mortal wits obey, 

}an honor give to actions ill, 

Ind faith to deeds incredible ; — 

Vnd bitter blame, and praises high, 

^all truest from posterity. 

But if we dare the deeds rehearse 

Of those that aye endure, 
'T were n*eet that in such dangerous verse 

Our every word were pure. 
Then, son of Tantalus, receive 

A plain unvarnished lay. 
My song shall elder fables leave, 
And of thy parent say, 
liat when in heaven a favored guest, 
le called the gods in turns to feast 
)n Sipylus, his mountain home : — 
^he sovereign of the ocean foam, 
-Can mortal form such favor prove ? — 
lapt thee on golden car above 
To highest house of mighty Jove ; 
To which, in after day, 



Came golden-haired Ganymede, 
As bard in ancient story read. 

The dark- winged eagle's prey. 

And when no earthly tongue could tell 
The fate of thee, invisible •, — 
Nor friends, who sought thee wide in vain, 
To soothe thy weeping mother's pain, 
Could bring the wanderer home again ; 

Some envious neighbor's spleen, 
In distant hints, and darkly, said, 
That in the caldron hissing red, 
And on the god's great table spread, 

Thy mangled limbs were seen. 
But who shall tax, I dare not, I, 
The blessed gods with gluttony ? — 
Full oft the slanderous tongue has felt 
By their high wrath the thunder dealt; — 
And sure, if ever mortal head 
Heaven's holy watchers honored, 

That head was Lydia's lord. 
Yet, could not mortal heart digest 
The wonders of that heavenly feast ; 
Elate with pride, a thought unblest 

Above his nature soared. 
And now, condemned to endless dread, — 
(Such is the righteous doom of fate,) 


He eyes, above his guilty head, 
The shadowy rocks' impending weight : 
The fourth with that tormented three 
In horrible society ! — 

For that, in frantic theft, 

The nectar cup he reft, 
And to his mortal peers in feasting poured 

For whom a sin it were 

With mortal life to share 
The mystic dainties of th' immortal board : 

And who by policy 

Can hope to 'scape the eye 
Of him who sits above by men and gods adored? 

For such offence, a doom severe, 
Sent down the sun to sojourn here 
Among the fleeting race of man ; 
Who when the curly down began 
To clothe his cheek in darker shade, 
To car-borne Pisa's royal maid 
A lover's tender service paid. 
But, in the darkness first he stood 
Alone, by ocean's hoary flood, 
And raised to him the suppliant cry. 
The hoarse earth- shaking deity. 



Nor called in vain, through cloud and storm 
Half-seen, a huge and shadowy form, 

The god of waters came. 
He came, whom thus the youth addressed — 
• thou, if that immortal breast 

Have felt a lover's flame, 
A lover's prayer in pity hear, 
Repel the tyrant's brazen spear 

That guards my lovely dame, — 
And grant a car whose rolling speed 
May help a lover at his need ; 
Condemned by Pisa's hand to bleed, 
Unless I win the envied meed 

In Elis' field of fame. 

For youthful knights thirteen 

By him have slaughtered been, 
His daughter vexing with perverse delay. 

Such to a coward's eye 

Were evil augury ; 
Nor durst a coward's heart the strife essay. 

Yet since alike to all 

The doom of death must fall, 
Ah, wherefore, sitting in unseemly shade, 

Wear out a nameless life, 

Remote from noble strife, 
And all the sweet applause to valor paid ? — 
Yes, — I will dare the course; but, thou, 
Immortal friend, my prayer allow!' 


Thus, not in vain, his grief he told — 

The ruler of the watery space 
Bestowed a wondrous car of gold, 

And tireless steeds of winged pace. 
So, victor in the deathful race, 

He tamed the strength of Pisa's king, 
And from his bride of beauteous face, 

Beheld a stock of warriors spring, 

Six valiant sons, as legends sing. 
And now, with fame and virtue crowned, 

Where Alpheus' stream in wat'ry ring, 
Encircles half his turfy mound, 
He sleeps beneath the piled ground'; 

Near that blessed spot where strangers move 
In many a long procession round 

The altar of protecting Jove. 
Vet chief, in yonder lists of fame, 
Survives the noble Pelop's name ; 
Where strength of hands and nimble feet 
In stern and dubious contest meet ; 
And high renown and honeyed praise, 
And following length of honored days, 
The victor's weary toil repays. 

But what are past or future joys ? — 

The present is our own. 
And he is wise who best employs 


The passing hour alone. 
To crown with knightly wreath the king, 

(A grateful task,) be mine ; 
And on the smooth JEolian string 

To praise his ancient line. 
For ne'er shall wandering minstrel find 
A chief so just, — a friend so kind ; 
With every grace of fortune blest ; 
The mightiest, wisest, bravest, best. 

God, who beholdeth thee and all thy deeds, 
Have thee in charge, king Hiero ! — so again 
The bard may sing thy hotny-hoofed steeds 
In frequent triumph o'er the Olympian plain ; 
Nor shall the Bard awake a lowly strain, 
His wild notes flinging o'er the Cronian steep ; 
Whose ready muse, and not invoked in vain, 
For such high mark her strongest shaft shall keep. 

Each hath his proper eminence. 
To kings indulgent, Providence 
(No farther search the will of heaven) 
The glories of the earth hath given. 
Still mayest thou reign ! enough for me 
To dwell with heroes like to thee, 
Myself the chief of Grecian minstrelsy. 




O song, whose voice the harp obeys, 
Accordant aye with answering string ; 
What god, what hero wilt thou praise, 
What man of godlike prowess sing ? — 
Lo Jove himself is Pisa's king ; 
And Jove's strong son the first to raise 
The barriers of the Olympic ring. 
And now, victorious on the wing 
Of sounding wheels, our bards proclaim 
The stranger Theron's honored name, 
The flower of no ignoble race, 
And prop of ancient Agragas. 

His patient sires, for many a year, 
Where that blue river rolls its flood, 
Mid fruitless war and civil blood 

Essayed their sacred home to rear, 
Till time assigned, in fatal hour, 
Their native virtues, wealth and power ; 
And made them from their low degree, 
The eye of warlikeSicily. 


And, may that power of ancient birth, 
From Saturn sprung, and parent Earth, 

Of tall Olympus' lord, 
Who sees with still benignant eye 
The games' lon^r splendor sweeping by 

His Alpheus' holy ford : — 
Appeased with anthems chanted high, 
To Theron's late posterity 

A happier doom accord ; — 
Or good or ill, the past is gone, 
Nor time himself, the parent one, 
Can make the former deeds undone; — 

But who would these recall, — 
When happier days would fain efface 
The memory of each past disgrace, 
And, from the gods, on Theron's race 

Unbounded blessings fall ? — 

Example meet for such a song, 
The sister queens of Laius' blood ; 

Who sorrow's ed.«re endured Ions:, 
Made keener by remembered good. 
Yet now she breathes the air of Heaven 
(On earth by smouldering thunder riven,) 

Long-haired Semele : — 

To Pallas dear is she ; — 
Dear to the sire of gods, and dear 


To him, hur son, in dreadful glee 
Who shakes the ivy-wreathed spear. 

And thus, they tell that deep below 
The sounding ocean's ebb and flow, 
Amid the daughters of the sea, 
A sister nymph must Ino be, 
And dwell in bliss eternally : — 

But, ignorant and blind, 
We little know the coming hour; 
Or if the latter day shall lower ; 
Or if to nature's kindly power 

Our life in peace resigned, 
Shall sink like fall of summer eve, 
And on the face of darkness leave 

A ruddy smile behind, — 
For grief and joy with fitful gale 
Our crazy bark by turns assail, 

And, whence our blessings flow, 
That same tremendous Providence 
Will oft a varying doom dispense, 
And lay the mighty low. 

To Theban Laius that befell, 

Whose son, with murder dyed, 
Fulfilled the former oracle, 

Unconscious parricide. 



ynconscious — yef avenging hell 
Pursued th' offender's stealthy pace, 
And heavy, sure, and hard it fell, 
The curse of blood, on all his race. 
Spared from their kindred strife, 
The young Thersander's life, 
Stern Polynices' heir, was left alone : 
In every martial game, 
And in the field of fame, 
For early force and matchless prowess know n : 
Was left, the pride and prop to be 
Of good Adrastus' pedigree. 
And hence, through loins of ancient kings. 
The warrior blood of Theron springs ; 
Exalted name, to whom belong 
The minstrel's harp, the poet's song, 

In fair Olympia crowned ; 
And where, mid Pythia's olive* blue, 
An equal lot his brother drew : 
And where his twice-twain coursers flew 

The isthmus twelve times round. 
Such honor, earned by toil and care, 
May best his ancient wrongs repair, 

And wealth, unstained by pride, 
May laugh at fortune's fickle power, 
And blameless in the tempting hour 
Of syren ease abide: — 


Led by that star of heavenly ray, 
Which best may keep our darkling way 
O'er life's unsteady tide. 

For, whoso holds in righteousness the throne, 

He in his heart hath known 
How the foul spirits of the guilty dead, 

In chambers dark and dread, 
Of nether earth abide, and penal flame : 

Where he, whom none may name, 
Lays bare the soul by stern necessity ; 

Seated in judgment high ; 
The minister of God whose arm is there, 
In heaven alike and hell, almighty every where • 

But, ever bright, by day, by night, 
Exulting in excess of light; 
From labor free and long distress, 
The good enjoy their happiness. 
No more the stubborn soil they cleave, 
i\or stem for scanty food the wave ; 
But with the venerable gods they dwell : 
No tear bedims their thankful eye, 
Nor mars their long tranquillity ; 
While those accursed, howl in pangs unspeak- 

But, who the thrice-renewed probation 


Of either world may well endure ; 
And keep with righteous destination 
The soul from all transgression pure ; 
To such and such alone is given, 
To walk the rainbow paths of heaven, 
To that tall city of almighty time, 
Where Ocean's balmy breezes play, 
And, flashing to the western day, 
The gorgeous blossoms of such blessed clime, 
Now in the happy isles are seen 
Sparkling through the groves of green; 
And now, all glorious to behold, 
Tinge the wave with floating gold. 

Hence are their garlands woven — hence their 

Filled with triumphal boughs; — the righteous 

Of Rhadamanthus, whom, o'er these his lands, 
A blameless judge in every time to come, 
Chronos, old Chi ono?, sire of gods hath placed ; 

Who with his consort dear, 

Dread Rhea, reigneth here, 
On cloudy throne with deathless honor graced. 

And still, they say, in high communion, 
Peleus and Cadmus here abide ; 


And, with the blest in blessed union, 
(Nor Jove has Thetis' prayer denied,) 
The daughter of the ancient sea 
Hath brought her warrior boy to be ; 
Him whose stern avenging blow 
Laid the prop of Ilium low, 
Hector, trained to slaughter, fell, 
By all but him invincible ; — 
And sea-born Cycnus tamed, and slew 
Aurora's knight of Ethiop hue. 

Beneath my rattling belt I wear 
A sheaf of arrows keen and clear, 
Of vocal shafts, that wildly fly, 
Nor ken the base their import high, 
Yet to the wise they breathe no vulgar melody. 
Yes, he is wise whom nature's dower 

Hath raised above the crowd. 
But, trained in study's formal hour, 
There are who hate the minstrel's power. 
As daws who mark the eagle tower, 

And croak in envy loud ! — 
So let them rail ; but thou, my heart, 
Rest on the bow thy levelled dart ; 

Nor seek a worthier aim 
For arrow sent on friendship's wing, 


Than him the Agragantine king 
Who best thy song may claim. 

For, by eternal truth I swear, 
His parent town shall scantly bear 
A soul to every friend so dear, 

A breast so void of blame ; 
Though twenty lustres rolling round 
With rising youth her nation crowned, 
In heart, in hand, should none be found 

Like Theron's honored name. 
Yes ! we have heard the factious lie. 
But let the babbling vulgar try 
To blot his worth with tyranny. 

Seek thou the ocean strand, — 
And when thy soul would fain record 
The bounteous deeds of yonder lord, 

Go — reckon up the sand. 



May ray solemn strain ascending 
Please the long-haired Helen well, 
And those brave twins of Leda's shell 
The stranger's holy cause defending, 
With whose high name the chorus blending 
To ancient Agragas shall rise, 
And Theron for the chariot prize 
Again, and not in vain, contending. 
The muse in numbers bold and high, 
Hath taught my Dorian note to fly, 
Worthy of silent awe, a strange sweet harmony. 
Yes, as I fix mine eager view 
On yonder wreath of paly blue, 
That olive wreath, whose shady round 
Amid the courser's mane is bounded ; 
I feel again the sacred glow 
That bids my strain of rapture flow, 
With shrilly breath of Spartan flute, 


The many- voiced harp to suit ; 

And wildly fling my numbers sweet, 

Again mine ancient friend to greet. 

Nor, Pisa, thee I leave unsung ; 

To men the parent of renown. 

Amid whose shady ringlets strung, 

Etolia binds her olive crown ; 

Whose sapling root from Scythian down 

And Ister's fount Alcides bare, 

To deck his parent's hallowed town ; 

With placid brow and suppliant prayer 

Soothing the favored northern seed, 

Whose horny-hoofed victims bleed 

To Phoebus of the flowing hair. 

A boon from these the hero prayed : 

One graft of that delightful tree ; 

To Jove's high hill a welcome shade, 

To men a blessed fruit to be, 

And crown of future victory. 

For that fair moon, whose slender light 

With inefficient horn had shone, 

When late on Pisa's airy height 

He reared to Jove the altar stone ; 

Now, through the dappled air, alone. 

In perfect ring of glory bright, 

OF PJNDAR. 1(59 

Guided her golden-wheeled throne ; 
The hroad and burning eye of night. 
And now the days were told aright, 
When Alpheus, from his sandy source, 
Should judge the champion's eager might, 
And mark of wheels the rolling force. 
Nor yet a tree to cheer the sight 
The Cronian vale of Pelops bore ; 
Obnoxious to the noonday weight 
Of summer suns, a naked shore. 

But she who sways the silent sky, 
Latona's own equestrian maid, 
Beheld how far Alcides strayed, 
Bound on adventure strange and high : 
Forth from the glens of A ready 
To Istrian rocks in ice arrayed 
He urged the interminable race, 
(Such penance had Eurystheus laid,) 
The golden-horned hind to chase, 
Which, grateful for Diana's aid, 
By her redeemed from foul embrace, 
Old Atlas' daughter hallowed. 
Thus, following where the quarry fled, 
Beyond the biting North he past, 
Beyond the regions of the blast, 


And all unknown to traveller's tread, 

He saw the blessed land at last. — 

He stopt, he gazed with new delight, 

When that strange verdure met his sight , 

And soft desire enflamed his soul 

(Where twelve times round the chariots roll,) 

To plant with such the Pisan goal. 

But now, unseen to mortal eyes, 
He comes to Theron's sacrifice : 
And with him brings to banquet there 
High bosomed Leda's knightly pair. — 
Himself to high Olympus bound, 
To these a latest charge he gave, 
A solemn annual feast to found, 
And of contending heroes round 
To deck the strong, the swift, the brave. 
Nor doubt I that on Theron's head, 
And on the good Emmenides, 
The sons of Jove their blessings shed ; 
Whom still, with bounteous tables spread, 
That holy tribe delight to please ; 
Observing with religious dread 
The hospitable god's decrees. 

But, wide as water passeth earthly clay, 
Or sun-bright gold transcendeth baser ore ; 


Wide as from Greece to that remotest shore 
Whose rock-built pillars own Alcides' sway ; 
Thy fame hath passed thine equals ! To explore 
The further ocean all in vain essay, 
Or fools or wise ; h?re from thy perilous way 
Cast anchor here, my bark ! I dare no more. 



O, urging on the tireless speed 

Of Thunder's elemental steed, 

Lord of the world, almighty Jove! 

Since these thine hours have led me forth 

The witness of thy champions' worth, 

And prophet of thine olive grove : 

And since the good thy poet hear, 

And hold his tuneful message dear; 

Saturnian Lord of Etna hill. 

Whose storm-cemented rocks encage 

The hundred-headed rebel's rage ; 

Accept with favorable will 

The Muse's giit of harmony ; 

The dance, the song, whose numbers high 

Forbid the hero's dame to die, 

A crown of life abiding still. 

Hark, round the car of victory, 
Where noble Psaumis sits on high, 

The cheering notes resound ; 
Who vows to swell with added fame 


His Camarina's ancient name ; 

With Pi-an olive crowned. 
And thou, father ,hear his prayer, — 
For much I praise the knightly care 

That trains the warrior steed : 
Nor less the hospitable hall 
Whose open doors the stranger call; 
Yet, praise I Psaumis most of all 

For wise and peaceful rede, 
And patriot love of liberty. 
What ? do we wave the glozing lie ? 
Then whoso list my truth to try, 
The proof be in the deed. 

To Lemnos's laughing dames of yore, 
Such vras the proof Ernicus bore, 

When, matchless in his speed, 
All brazen-armed the racer hoar, 
Victorious on the applauding shore, 

Sprang to the proffered meed ; 
Bowed to the queen his wreathed head ; 
' Thou seest my limbs are light,' he said ; 

4 And, lady, may'st thou know, 
That every joint is firmly strung, 
And hand and heart alike are young ; 
Though treacherous time my locks among 

Have strewed a summer snow. ' 




Accept of these Olympian games the crown, 
Daughter of Ocean, rushy Camarine. 
The flower of knightly worth and high renown, 
"Which car-borne Psaumis on thy parent shrine, 
(Psaumis, the patriot, whom thy peopled town 
Its second author owns,) with rite divine 
Suspends. His praise the twice six altars tell 
Of the great gods whom he hath feasted well 
With blood of bulls; the praise of victory, 
Where cars and mules and steeds contest the 

prize ; 
And that green garland of renown to thee 
He hallows, virgin daughter of the sea, 
And to his sire and household deities; 
Thee too, returning home from Pelop'sland, 
Thee, guardian Pallas, and thy holy wood, 
He hails with song, and coolOanus' flood ; 
And of his native pool the rushy strand ; 
And thy broad bed, refreshing Hipparis, 
Whose silent waves the peopled city kiss, 
That city which hath blest his bounteous hand, 


r Rearing- her goodly bowers on high. 
That now, redeemed from late disgrace, 
The wealthy mother of a countless race, 
She lifts her front in shining majesty. 

'Tis ever thus, by toil and pain, 
And cumbrous cost, we strive to gain 
Some seeming prize whose issues lie 
In darkness and futurity. 
And yet, if conquest crown our aim, 
Theu, foremost in the rolls of fame, 
Even from the envious herd a forced applause 
we claim. 
O cloud-enthroned, protecting Jove, 
Who sittest the Cronian cliffs above, 

And Alpheus' ample wave, 
And that dark gloom hast deigned to love 

Of Ida's holy cave. 
On softest Lydian notes to thee 
I tune the choral prayer, 
That this thy town, the brave, the free, 
The strong in virtuous energy, 
May feel thine endless care. 

And, victor thou, whose matchless might 

The Pisan wreath hath bound. 
Still, Psaumis, be thy chief delight 


In generous coursers found. 
Calm be thy latter age, and late 
And gently fall the stroke of fate, 

Thy children standing round. 

And know, when favoring gods have given 
A green old age, a temper even. 
And wealth and fame in store, 
The task were vain to scale the heaven. 
Have those immortals more? 




Who seeks a goodly bower to raise, 
Conspicuous to the stranger's eye, 
With gold the lintel overlays, 
And clothes the porch in ivory. 
So bright, so bold, so wonderful, 
The choicest themes of verse I cull, 
To each high song a frontal high. 
But lives there one whose brows around 
The green Olympian wreath is bound ; 
Prophet and priest in those abodes 
Where Pisans laud the sire of gods ; 
And Syracusa's denizen ? — 
Who, 'mid the sons of mortal men, 
While envy's self before his name 
Abates her rage, may fitlier claim 
Whate'er a bard may yield of fame ? 
For sure to no forbidden strife, 
In hallowed Pisa's field of praise, 


He came, the priest of blameless life. 
Nor who in peace hath past his days, 

Marring with canker sloth his might. 
May hope a name in standing fight, 
Nor in the hollow ship to raise. 

By toil, illustrious toil alone, 
Of elder times the heroes shone; 
And, bought by like emprize, to thee, 
O warrior priest, like honor be, — 
Such praise as good Adrastus bore 
To him, the prophet chief of yore, 
When, snatched from Thebes' accursed fight, 
With steed and car and armor bright, 
Down, down he sank to earthly night. 

When the fight was ended, 
And the sevenfold pyres 
All their funeral fires 
In one sad lustre blended, 

The leader of the host 
Murmured mournfully, 
8 1 lament for the eye 
Of all mine army lost, — 
To gods and mortals dear, 
Either art he knew ; 
Augur tried and true, 


And strong to wield the spear. 5 

And by the powers divine, 

Sush praise is justly thine, 

Syracusan peer, 
For of a gentle blood thy race is sprung, 
As she shall truly tell, the muse of hone 

Then yoke the mules of winged pace, 
And, Phintis, climb the car with me ; 
For well they know the path to trace 
Of yonder victor's pedigree. 

Unbar the gates of song, unbar, — 

For we today must journey far, 
To Sparta, and to Pitane. 

She, mournful nymph, and nursing long 

Her silent pain and virgin wrong, 

To Neptune's rape a daughter fair, 

Evadne of the glossy hair, 

(Dark as the violet's darkest shade,) 

In solitary sorrow bare. 

Then to her nurse the infant maid 

She weeping gave, and bade convey 

To high Phersana's hall away : 

Where woman-grown, and doomed to prove 

In turn a god's disastrous love, 

Her charms allured the lord of day. 


Nor long the months, ere, fierce in pride, 
The painful tokens of disgrace 
Her foster-father sternly eyed, 
Fruit of the furtive god's embrace. 

Ke spake not, but with soul on flame, 
He sought th' unknown offender's name, 
At Phoebus' Pythian dwelling place. 

But she, beneath the greenwood spray, 
Her zone of purple silk untied ; 
And flung tbe silver clasp away 
That rudely pressed her heaving side ; 

While, in the solitary wood, 

Lucina's self to aid her stood, 
And fate a secret force supplied. 

But, who the mother's oang can tell, 

As sad and slowly she withdrew, 
And bade her babe a long farewell, 
Laid on a bed of violets blue ? 

When ministers of heaven's decree, 

(Dire nurses they and strange to see.) 
Two scaly snakes of azure hue 

Watched o'er his helpless infancy, 
And, rifled from the mountain bee, 
Bare on their forky tongues a harmless honey 


Swift roll the wheels ! from Delphos home 
Arcadia's car-borne chief is come; 

But, ah, how changed his eye ! — 
His wrath is sunk, and past his pride, 
1 Where is Evande's babe,' he cried, 

< Child of the deity ? 
'T was thus the augur god replied, 
Nor strove his noble seed to hide ; 
And to his favored boy, beside, 

The gift of prophecy, 
And power beyond the sons of men 
The secret things of fate to ken, 

His blessing will supply.' 

But, vainly, from his liegemen round, 

He sought the noble child ; 
Who, naked on the grassy ground, 

And nurtured in the wild, 
Was moistened with the sparkling dew 

Beneath his hawthorn bower ; 
Where morn her watery radiance threw, 
Now golden bright, now deeply blue, 

Upon the violet flower. 

From that dark bed of breathing bloom 

His mother gave his name ; 
And Iamus, through years to come, 


Will live in lasting fame ; 
Who when the blossom of his days, 

Had ripened on the tree, 
From forth the brink where Alpheus strays, 
Invoked the god whose sceptre sways 

The hoarse resounding sea; 
And, whom the Delian isle obeys, 

The archer deity. 
Alone amid the nightly shade, 
Beneath the naked heaven he prayed, 
And sire and grandsire called to aid ; 
Whenlo, a voice that loud and dread 

Burst from the horizon free ; 
1 Hither,' it spake, e to Pisa's shore, 
My voice, O son, shall go before, 

Beloved, follow me. ' 

So in the visions of his sire, he went 

W T here Cronium's scarred and barren brow 
W~as red with morning's earliest glow, 
Though darkness wrapt the nether element. 

There, in a lone and craggy dell, 
A double spirit on him fell, 
Th' unlying voice of birds to tell, 
And, (when Alcmena's son should found 
The holy games in Elis crowned,) 
By Jove's high altar evermore to dwell, 


Prophet and priest! — From him descend 

The fathers of our valiant friend, 

Wealthy alike and just and wise, 

Who trod the plain and open way; 

And who is he that dare despise 

With galling taunt the Cronian prize, 

Or their illustrious toil gainsay, 

Whose chariots whirling twelve times round 

W 7 ith burning wheels the Olympian ground, 

Have gilt their brow with glory's ray ? 

For, not the steams of sacrifice 

From cool Cyllene's height of snow, 

Nor vainly from thy kindred rise 

The heaven-appeasing litanies 

To Hermes, who, to men below, 

Or gives the garland or denies: — 

By whose high aid, Agesias, know, 

And his, the thunderer of the skies, 

The olive wreath hath bound thy brow. 

Arcadian ! Yes, a warmer zeal 

Shall whet my tongue thy praise to tell. 

I feel the sympathetic flame 

Of kindred love ; — a Theban I, 

Whose parent nymph from Arcady 

(Metope's daughter, Thebe) came. 

Dear fountain goddess, warrior maid, 


By whose pure rills my youth hath played ; 
Who now assembled Greece among, 
To car-borne chiefs and warriors strong > 
Have wove the many-colored song* 

Then, minstrel, bid thy chorus rise 

To Juno, queen of deities, 

Parthenian lady of the skies, 

For, live there yet who dare defame 

With sordid mirth our country's name, 

Who tax with scorn our ancient line, 

And call the brave Boeotians swine ? — 

Yet, ^Eneas, sure thy numbers high 

May charm this brutish enmity ; 

Dear herald of the holy muse, 

And teeming with Parnassian dews, 

Cup of untasted harmony,— 

That strain once more. — The chorus raise 

To Syracusa's wealthy praise, 

And his the lord whose happy reign 

Controls Trincria's ample plain, 

Hiero, the just, the wise, 

Whose steamy ofTe rings rise 
To Jove, to Ceres, and that darling maid, 

Whom, rapt in chariot bright,. 

And horses silver-white, 
Down to his dusky bower the lord of hell con- 


Oft hath he heard the muses' string resound 
His honored name ; and may his latter days, 
With wealth and worth, and minstrel garlands 

Mark with no envious ear a subject praise, 
Who now from fair Arcadia's forest wide 
To Syracusa, homeward, from his home 
Returns, a common care, a common pride, — 
(And, whoso darkling braves the ocean foam, 
May safeliest moored with twofold anchor ride,) 
Arcadia, Sicily, on either side 
Guard him with prayer; and thou who rulest 

the deep, 
Fair Amphitrite's lord, in safety keep 
His tossing keel, — and evermore to me 
No meaner theme assign of poesy* 







In those eyes the tears that glisten as in pity for 

my pain, 
^.re they gems, or only dew-drops ? can they, will 
they long remain ? 

Why thy strength of tyrant beauty thus, with 
seeming ruth, restrain ? 

Better breathe my last, before thee, than in linger- 
ing grief remain! 

To yon planet, Fate has given every month to 

wax and wane ; 
And — thy world of blushing brightness — can it, 

will it, long remain ? 

Health and youth in balmy moisture on thy cheek 

their seat maintain ; 
But — the dew that steeps the rose-bud — can it, 

will it long remain ? 


Asuf, why, in mournful numbers, of thine absence 

thus complain ? 
Chance had joined us, chance has parted, — nought 

on earth can long remain. 

In the world may'st thou, beloved, live exempt 

from grief and pain. 
On my lips the breath is fleeting, — will it, can it 

long remain ? 



4 Brother, know the world deceiveth ; 
Trust on him who safety giveth ; 
Fix not on the world thy trust, 
She feeds us — but she turns to dust ; 
And the bare earth or kingly throne 
Alike may serve to die upon.' 


' The man who leaveth life behind. 
May well and boldly'speak his mind ; 
Where flight is none from battle field, 
We blithely snatch the sword and shield ; 
Where hope is past, and hate is strong, 
The wretch's tongue is sharp and long ; 
Myself have seen, in wild despair, 
The feeble cat the mastiff tear.' 



• Who the silent man can prize, 
If a fool he be or wise ? 
Yet, though lonely seem the wood, 
Therein may lurk the beast of blood. 
Often bashful looks conceal 
Tongue of fire and heart of steel. 
And deem not thou, in forest gray, 
Every dappled skin thy prey ; 
Lest thou rouse, with luckless spear, 
The tiger for the fallow-deer. 5 

iiiiiiiii»»*l |i,i r ,,i l' r 


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